


No Matter What Time

by Rachel_Lu



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Time Travel, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Lu/pseuds/Rachel_Lu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young student Rose Tyler is given a pocket watch and is sucked into a world she could've never imagined, where she meets a cooky inventor by the name of John Smith</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rose Tyler was not a popular girl.  Not on campus, that was.  In her final year of university, she buried herself in her books, never really talking to other students, not dating, not going out.  As a matter of fact, it had sort of become a competition about the boys on campus, who could pull her first.  There was almost five thousand pounds in the pot for it as of last month.  She kept tabs on it, and she wondered who would get the money, since no one was going to get her before she graduated.  

Her favorite librarian was a woman named Sarah Jane. She helped her find all the right books and everything interesting.  Rose had never been  _terribly_ interested in history, but Sarah Jane was just so passionate about it. Even though Sarah Jane was an older woman, Rose enjoyed conversing with her.  The two often sat at the small library tables and poured over Rose's homework.  

Unlike nearly every other person at Uni, Rose didn't' know what she wanted to do.  All she had was her mother, her father having died when she was a kid, and an ex-boyfriend who only hinted at getting back together with her.  She was rather convinced that he had about three hundred pounds in the "Pull Rose Tyler" pot.  

She was shaken awake one morning, and she jolted awake, a piece of paper stuck to her face.  She looked up at Sarah Jane, who pulled the piece of paper from her face and lay it back on the library table. 

"Did I fall asleep here?" Rose asked, her hands pressed over her face.  

Sarah Jane smiled sheepishly.  "You did.  Rose, this isn't healthy.  You don't need to slaughter your exams, beating them within an inch of their life is enough," she said teasingly, sitting down next to her and rubbing her shoulder. 

"I don't even know where I can get a job, besides that shop again," Rose said, waving her hand absently.  "I have no idea what to do with my life."

"Some people don't, Rose, that's alright."

"I just feel like I could be of more use somewhere else," Rose said, glancing mournfully down at her books.  "I could be... I dunno, curing cancer or inventing the newest light bulb, or something."

"And maybe you will."

Rose shook her head, an odd realization hitting her.  "Not here, I won't."

"Well, you just get up and go to class.  I've got an idea.  When you're done, come back here, I'll have something for you," Sarah Jane stood up and helped Rose start to pack her things up. 

"Thanks, Sarah Jane, but you really don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do."  Sarah Jane nodded.  "I think it'll help you rather nicely as you go on your way."

Rose allowed herself a smile. "That's shady," she said, and Sarah Jane laughed. 

"Maybe so."

"I'll be back at two."

Rose's classes were boring as usual, her neat cursive the only thing distracting her from whatever the boy next to her was doing.  Usually, that included picking his nose.  Today, though, her thoughts were focused on her lessons, really, properly focused, as though this was the last kiss she would ever have to attend.  When she left, her writing hand was sore and her neck ached from sitting in those painful chairs for hours.  Physics equations whirled through her mind as she made her way back to the library, her feet dragging behind her.

She entered the library, and all the librarians chorused a greeting of "good afternoon, Rose" to her.  It occurred to her that she probably spent altogether too much time at the library.  She let her eyes flutter shut as she inhaled the familiar scent of old books seeping into her skin.  She opened her eyes again and greeted the librarians back, smiling cheerfully.  She spotted Sarah Jane putting away some books from where she was, perched up on a high ladder.  At the librarians' greetings, she peered down and offered Rose a wide, genuine smile.  "Hello, Rose, how are you doing?"  She called out as she climbed down the ladder.

It really was hopeless to be quiet in the library, it wasn't like many people came crawling into it anyways, and those who did usually had earbuds plugged in, their pencils tapping out meaningless tunes as they read their books.  Rose dropped her back on a nearby table, ignoring the little flurry of dust that shot up at the motion, and hurried to steady Sarah Jane's ladder.  

"Thank you," Sarah said as she reached the ground.  "Come to my office.  This is a... Well, it's a private matter, something you should really see just you and I."

Rose furrowed her brows and took up her bag again, following Sarah Jane through the library, the sounds of tapping and the gentle thud of feet against carpeting echoing through the building.  She'd been to Sarah Jane's office once or twice during her first year to cry about her then boyfriend, Mickey.  It had ended poorly anyway, but she couldn't imagine what Sarah Jane would have to show her in her own office.  Perhaps another reason to cry?

Rose huffed to herself. She wouldn't have to think that hard to find reasons for that.  Everyone told her that college would be some of the most fun she'd ever have, but somehow, getting drunk with strangers wasn't very fun to her.  She was here to get an education, but in doing that, she'd missed out on friendships.  She thought that she rather belonged somewhere else, but she didn't know where that was just yet.

"Have a seat," Sarah Jane said as they entered her office before shutting the door behind them.  "It's very special, this think I have for you."

"Oh, good, I've been thinking about it all day," Rose teased, grinning.

Sarah Jane laughed.  "Oh, of course," she said, wrapping around to her desk and opened the drawer on the right.  "Now, this is called a fob watch."  She deposited the gold watch onto the desk.  "Don't open it, listen to me."

Rose looked at her carefully.  "Is there something shady about that watch?" She asked.

"Depends on how you define shady," Sarah Jane shrugged.  "There's a lot of lore behind this watch, in all the years I've had it, I've never opened it."

Rose found herself arching a brow at her mentor, suspicion clouding her view.  "And why is that?"

"Legend says that there's a time set on this watch, which there is, it doesn't tick," Sarah Jane leaned forwards, as though telling a secret.  "And when you open the watch, you go to that time."

"Time travel?" Rose replied blandly.

Sarah Jane nodded.  "Time travel.  I want you to have it, even if you never open it, just for the mystery."  She slid the watch and its chain across the desk to Rose.  "Take it."

Rose chewed her bottom lip. "Thank you," she said, taking the watch and fingering the gold metal.  "I think... I think I _will_ open it," she said, "So if I'm not here tomorrow, it's cause I'm somewhere else in time."

Sarah Jane laughed.  "Any time, Rose.  If, by some twist of fate, it works, any of it works, leave me a note for the future.  I'm a bit... Curious about these things."

"Then why didn't you open the watch?" Rose asked curiously, carefully avoiding the button on the top of the watch.  

"Because I wasn't the one who needed it," she replied simply.

Rose looped the chain of the watch around her neck.  "Well, I appreciate this a lot, Sarah Jane.  Even if it doesn't work.  Thank you."

Sarah Jane grinned.  "You know, a little adventure, real or fake, never hurt anybody."

She thought about that for the rest of the night.

The evening was hot, practically burning through her as she tried to sleep.  She had sleep shorts and a tank top on, and she was still sweating through it.  Finally, she sat up, unable to take the heat and too preoccupied with thoughts of the watch to sleep.  She adjusted her tank top and padded over to where she had laid it on her desk.  Her roommate was quiet, had been asleep for a while, and Rose didn't know how she managed it.  Maybe because it was simply quieter here at Uni than it was where she lived.  Martha's family was a bit loud, after all.  The silence was probably completely welcome to her.  

Rose tried to keep quiet as she sat down at her desk, picking up the watch and looking at the simple plating on the front.  It had Roman Numerals carved into it, and she squinted in the darkness to try to read it.  After a few moments she finally read it as "1860" and hummed softly to herself.  So that's where it was from.  It was in pretty excellent condition for being that old.  

She itched to open it.

She wasn't sure why, but there was something about this simple piece of metal that seemed important. It drew her to it, as though something like destiny was awaiting her on the other side. She rolled her eyes, of course she didn't believe in things like destiny.  She sighed heavily through her nose and set the watch back down, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. After all, if this thing ended up working, she should probably tell people where she'd gone.  She'd barely gotten the pen in her hand before she realized she probably couldn't write "Gone time travelling -Rose" on a paper and leave it there without seeming insane.  She didn't want to be seen as a psychopath when she returned.   

Rose twirled the pen between her fingers, trying to think.  Finally, she settled herself in to write a short note. 

_Martha,_

_Gone travelling.  Make sure mum is okay until I get back, I won't be able to come home and check on her._

_Thanks!_

_Rose_

She stared at it for awhile, making sure that was what she wanted to say to her friend before she left.  She then shook her head.  She was being stupid, there was no way that the watch actually gave her the ability to travel through time.  Like Sarah Jane had said, it was just lore.  Stupid lore, probably Irish.  She rolled her eyes and picked up the watch again, setting the pen down with her new distraction in hand.  She stroked over the upraised Roman Numerals with her pointer finger and inhaled slowly.  Well, she might as well do it, hadn't she?  It wasn't like there would be any true consequences either way.  

Rolling her eyes at herself, she popped the watch open, and promptly blacked out, the chain wrapped around her wrist.

She woke up in a field.  

Wait.

A field? 

She sat up and glared around her.  It was nighttime, and she was still in her pajamas, but really it was much colder now.  She shivered and got slowly to her feet.  When had it gotten so cold?   When had she gotten outside, for that matter?  She wrapped her arms around herself, the watch pressed into her arm with the motion.  Her feet were bare, and she could feel herself growing chilled, her toes going numb.  She turned over her shoulder and saw what looked to be a city in the distance. There were lights, that was for sure.  She turned back and looked in front of here.  There was a small, cozy house, a tiny garden with some flowers and vegetables in front.  Smoke was spewing up from the chimney, and she furrowed her brows at how old the place looked.  

The smoke reminded her that there would be a fire inside the house, which meant there would be warmth.  Steeling herself to knock on a strangers door, she started walking through the dew-wet grass towards it.  It would be very simple, to find out where she'd been taken.  Had someone drugged her last night? She knew she'd passed out, but she wasn't one hundred percent sure as to why.  

Finally, shivering, she reached the door and lifted her shaking hand to knock.  She heard a man yell "Coming!" And run down a set of stairs at top speed.  He threw open the door, and she blinked at his attire. 

He was wearing breeches and a vest and a waist coat and.... She blinked.  He was dressed like a man from 'Pride and Prejudice'.  Although, his hair was spiky and wild, with dark eyes to match, and she found herself gulping.  He was really rather good looking.  

She was so entranced and shocked by this that she barely heard his squeak of alarm as he turned away from her, shielding his eyes.  "Blimey, you're naked!"

Rose furrowed her brows.  "M'not naked.  I passed out and woke up here.  Can you help me?"

The man peeked through his fingers, his eyes carefully trained on her face.  "Yes, miss, I'll always help someone in need, though I don't know how you ended up outside the village."  He opened the door wider and beckoned her in, but vanished to grab a blanket from a stool that sat next to a dingy kitchen table.  He brought it to her and wrapped it around her shoulders. 

"Thank you," She said, clutching it closed over her, the watch exposing itself.  He eyed it curiously. 

"Is that your father's?"

"No, no, my friend gave it to me.  It was an... She got it from... Oh, I don't know," she sighed.  "It was a gift."

The man chuckled.  "Well, now you're a bit less naked.  You could stay here for the night if you'd like. Although summer approaches, the nights are still cold."

Rose breathed out a sigh of relief.  "Thank you," she said, her voice dripping with relief.  "I'm Rose.  Rose Tyler."

"John Smith, inventor," John took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles.  She felt her cheeks flush as he continued talking.  "Well, we'll have to find the person who left you out here, Miss Tyler.  They should be punished."

"I'm not sure it wasn't my own stupidity," Rose admitted.  "But I'm sure we can figure all that out... Tomorrow... What year is it?" She blurted out.

John gave her an odd look.  "Did you hit your head?" 

"No."

"It's 1865.  Come with me, I have some of my mother's old things that you can wear.  Dreadfully out of style, I'm afraid, but that should be alright."

Rose felt her jaw drop.  It had worked!  The bloody watched had worked!  She mouthed a silent thank you to Sarah Jane as she followed her frankly gorgeous host up the stairs. 


	2. Chapter 2

John took her up rickety old stairs to a tiny upstairs that housed two bedrooms.  He allowed her to precede him into the bedroom and stepped in behind here.  He opened up a wardrobe in the corner and picked up a box full of out of date clothing.  He sifted around in the box for a while before handing her a nightshift.  "That should do it," he said, smiling at her.  "You can go ahead and wear one of these dressed tomorrow."

"Wouldn't want me naked?" Rose teased.

John colored deeply and let out a breathless laugh.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yes, well, you're quite the rambunctious one, aren't you?"  He kept his eyes expertly trained on her face.  "Goodnight, Miss Tyler.  I would chat you up a bit more, but I suppose you would need your rest.  I hope we'll see what's happened to you tomorrow."

Rose laughed.  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said. 

He smiled at her, a soft look that she wouldn't mind seeing for ages and ages.  "I'm an inventor," he spread his arms out.  "I believe everything."  He bid her goodnight again, pressing another kiss to her knuckles before leaving her grinning and wrapped in a blanket. 

She shut the door and looked around the room.  It was old, very old, and Victorian.  She really couldn't stop drawing Jane Austen parallels.  It was so beautiful, everything tidied and clean and... Well, needless to say it was a rather clean place for a man who lived alone.  She ran her finger along the desk and saw how spotless it was.  She hummed a little and dropped the blanket from around her shoulders.  She felt very cold suddenly, and was reminded of the lack of heat in the 1860s.  She hurriedly pulled John's mother's night shift and pulled it on over her head.  It smelled clean, though it had obviously been at least five years since someone had worn something like this.  She looked through the dresses that were crammed in the large wooden box and saw that she was correct.  She remembered from her history class that these dresses wouldn't have been worn by people in this time.  They were almost a decade old.  Biting her lip, she folded the dresses back up reverently and set them back.  John's mother must be dead.

Rose was wide awake, not wanting to go to bed, wanting to sit and pepper John with questions about all his inventions and the time, but feared she wouldn't be able to do so without receiving odd looks and medical attention that he would certainly force upon her.  Giggling to herself, she got up and spun in a circle, the long skirt of the nightshift flaring out slightly around her.  She looked over at the bed and saw that it was gorgeously made up, but clearly was only used for guests.  She got under the covers and sank into the mattress.  

It was dark, no lanterns being lit, but she was rather enjoying the moonlight coming through the window and casing across the floor and bed.  Rose cuddled down into the covers, but couldn't bring herself to feel tired.  She cradled the watch in her hands, having closed it upon her arrival in 1865.  She sat up and laid the watch on her bedside table and stared at it.  She felt happy, something she wasn't sure she'd felt in awhile.  It was beautiful, all of it, and she felt excitement like she never had.  Maybe this little jaunt would be something to take with her, to keep her warm on a cold night.

She rested her cheek on her hand.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she would have to tell John about where she'd come from.  If he believed her, which he very well might, being an inventor, he might be interested in studying time travel.  Besides, if he knew about her, he would help her navigate this world that was so new to her, and she wouldn't have to pretend that she knew everything that was happening around her.  Obviously she would not. 

Although excitement was coursing through her and she was feeling more alive than she ever have, the adrenaline and evidently the time travel jet lag made her tired.  Her eyelids drifted shut and she somehow fell asleep.  

She woke up the next morning to the sunlight practically blaring through her window.  Groaning, she turned her face to the pillow.  And then she remembered where she was.  She sat up and glanced around her before grinning madly and clamoring out of bed.  She made her way to the wardrobe and fished out a dress with shorter sleeves than the rest of them had, and started on putting it on.  It was seeming to take a lot.  There were buttons all up the back and the neckline was low, a bit of frill around the edge of it and the sleeves.  This was clearly the dress of a working woman, and although there were nicer clothes inside, Rose couldn't bring herself to put them on.  They would certainly be heavier and John had said that it was getting close to being summer.  

She struggled for a while, trying to get her buttons done up, but found she couldn't quite manage it on her own.  Leaving the nightshift and her pajamas folded up on the bed, she picked up a pair of boots and socks from the box and trudged down the stairs.  John shot up to his feet as he saw her approach and smiled at her.  She smiled weakly back, one hand holding the back of her dress together.  "I'm sorry," she said uncomfortably, "I can't reach the buttons."

"Quite alright," John said, motioning for her to turn around.  He started to do up her buttons and continued talking. "These dresses are completely outdated, I'll have you know. I wish I could give you something more appropriate to wear." 

"It's really fine," Rose promised, "Not your fault at all."

John's fingers danced over her skin as he buttoned up her dress.  "Do you know... Where you came from?" He asked tentatively.

"Like I said, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," She said, sighing heavily.  "I'm not quite sure I want to go back just yet."  

"And as I told you, Miss Tyler, I believe everything.  So, you might as well go on and tell me."

Rose sighed and laughed a little.  "Yeah, alright."

"'Yeah'," he said slowly, "That's a bit new."

Rose winced at her mistake.  "People say it, where I'm from."

"Have a seat.  I'm afraid the only thing I have for breakfast is bread, I don't go out to the shops very often, I don't have an assistant," he stepped back from her and gestured to a seat at the little table.  

"I don't want to impose..." Rose said slowly, feeling really very intrusive, in his mother's clothes, in a time she didn't belong in.

John looked at her as she turned around and his eyes softened.  "That looks... Lovely on you, Miss Tyler.  Far more lovely than it did on my mother," he gave her a happy grin and she couldn't stop herself from laughing.  She sat down at the table and slid the thick socks on before trying the dainty boots that she'd taken.  They were a bit too big, but if she laced the ties tight enough it only looked as though she had excessively long toes. 

She was also well aware that women of this time wore their hair up.  Unfortunately, she had nothing to tie her hair up with, and either way, she didn't even know how to do it.  She sat up and adjusted her clothing, watching John bring over a lumpy loaf of bread.  He set it on the table and smiled bashfully at her.  

"I really am sorry that this is all I have."

"It's just fine, Mr. Smith," Rose assured him.  "Did you bake this yourself?" 

"No, no... My cousin did.  She comes by every once in awhile because she knows I forget things."  John tugged at his ear and they tucked into the bread.  "Now," he said, leaning over the table towards her.  "Who are you, Miss Tyler?  Where are you from?"

She heaved a heavy sigh, trying to give herself confidence, and leaned forward.  "2007," she said, "I'm from... I'm from after this."

His eyes bugged out at the admission.  "What?  What?!  You're from... You, you have... Well, that would explain the nakedness, and randomly appearing in a field by my house I suppose, but, blimey, time travel?"  He arched an eyebrow. 

She blinked.  "Are you saying you believe me?" 

"Tell me a bit about the future, Miss Tyler. Then we'll see."

Rose took a small bite of her bed and chewed slowly and politely before answering.  "I attend University in London, right, and I share a flat with this other girl, Martha.  You could ride your bike on campus if you wanted to, but people are always looking down at their cell phones so it's hard not to crash and-" she saw that he was staring and blushed.  "Sorry, I got a little carried away there."

"University."  John said slowly.  "Women don't... That is to say, not here, at least, they aren't-"

"Oh, I know!  We studied that in European history last year," Rose said enthusiastically.  "It was brilliant, learning about women's suffrage and all that."

John blinked.

"Oh.  Oh, that hasn't happened yet," she looked at him guiltily.  "Have I said too much?"

John shook his head.  "No.  No, that's  _brilliant._ There's no way you could be making this up, could you?  No one would believe that women would be in University unless, well, unless they  _were."_

Rose laughed.  "I can assure you, they are," she said, "Though there's no shortage of boys around there, either."

"Fascinating.  Tell me more."

"How much can I tell?" Rose asked, shifting uncomfortably.   "If I say something to you, it could affect the future forever, couldn't it?  That's the... The butterfly effect, and all that?"

"Well, I suppose it could," John replied, resting his chin in his hand thoughtfully.  "Hang on, what's the butterfly effect?"

Rose nodded.  "It's a sort of saying.  Something about 'the snap of a butterfly's wings could change human history' or something like that.  It's supposed to mean that every word and action is important."

"I believe it," John said, "I think everything that happens changes history."  

She bit her lip and nodded.  "Do you really think that I... Do you believe me?" She asked softly. 

He smiled softly and nodded. "I think I do."

"Oh, hang on!"  Rose ran upstairs and grabbed her pajamas from the bed and ran back down.  She sat down again and showed John the tag to her tank top.  He took it from her gently and examined the tag, his fingers running over the material.  He hummed softly in the back of his throat and squinted closer at the tag.  

"This is unbelievable," he said softly, "How does the print get onto here?" He asked, running his thumb over the tag.  

She had been so caught up in how lovely he looked that she was a little bit distracted.  She snapped out of it and looked at him.  "Oh, well, we have machines that do it," she said, "Mass produce them.  And the fabric, too."

"That must be terribly expensive," he said. 

"Oh, no, that wasn't expensive at all," Rose said, waving her hand.  

He pulled out a pair of glasses from his inside pocket and put them on, looking ever closer at her tank top.  "Remarkable," he said softly.  

"You believe me?" 

"Yes," he said, his voice reverent and soft.  He raised his eyes back to hers.  " _Yeah."_

She giggled at his use of the word.  

He was watching her carefully.  "Well, why did you come here?"

"Like I said, it was a gift, and..." Rose paused and sighed.  "I'm just sort of feeling unfulfilled there, I sort of... _Hate it."_

John raised his eyebrows.  "How could you....  How could you hate a world so fantastic?"

"Oh, no, I love London, I love my mum, but I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing and I suppose I just wanted to escape," she said, slumping a little.  

He folded her tank top up neatly and put it down on the far side of the table.  "Well, then, I suppose I've only got one more question for you."

"And what's that, Mr. Smith?" She asked.

He smiled at her, a thousand watt grin that she was starting to like quite alot, and replied, "Would you like to be my assistant?"  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really very difficult to find facts on the 1860s for the UK, but it's very easy to find them for America, so please forgive any mistakes when it comes to the time period. There are some things I can't find and am just finding something logical to say. 
> 
> I'm also bumping up the invention of the typewriter to help out dear old John here. Thank you!

She blinked in surprise, staring into his patient face, looking for a sign that he was kidding.  She found none and swallowed hard.  His question was serious.  How could he possibly think that she commit herself to this time period?  He didn't even know her.  She could be a mass murderer from the future and he would never know.  Of course, she wasn't, but that wasn't the point or even close to relevant to the matter at hand.  She found herself fiddling with her fingers as she tried to answer him.  "As in... As in stay here with you? In the past, my past?

John made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded questioning.  "Well, maybe not forever.  You could return home at any time, should you so desire, even pop back and forth if you wanted to.  But, Miss Tyler, I  _am_ in dire need of an assistant for my inventions, and well, personally.  I don't cook, you see."

"That why you're so skinny?" She teased, allowing a smile to play over her face.  He returned it but then shook himself and wagged a finger at her.

"Now, now, Miss Tyler, you're changing the subject," his eyes skimmed over the parts of her that were visible from her seat.  "Of course, I would need to go out and get you proper clothes, proper, heavy, frock things that all these women wear.  We wouldn't want to scandalize anyone with poor fashion, should we go into town."

She furrowed her brows at him.  "Why don't you live in town?" She asked curiously.  "I mean, everyone else does.  This is the only home outside it."

John smiled softly at her, and she refused to interpret it as sad, as much as it might have been so.  "I have my reasons, Miss Tyler, I promise you that.  Besides, I sell wares out of my basement, the inventions, they sell, but there are things I hang onto for myself."

"So you're not a complete hermit?"

He made a face at her.  "If by that you mean socially withdrawn, no, I am not.  I have plenty of friends in the town who stop by regularly.  In fact, some will probably show their faces round here a little later today.  In which case, our matters become a bit more pressing.  I'll ask but once more, Miss Tyler.  Would you like to be my assistant?"

Rose felt as though there was a lot to weigh in this decision.  Of course, she would love to stay and learn about the culture, the times. The 1860s were fascinating, and Rose had to admit that John Smith himself was rather fascinating himself.  She found herself smiling.  He wasn't tying her down.  She would be free to go home whenever she wanted, and of course, she would be able to come back if she needed to.  Wouldn't she?  She supposed she hadn't asked Sarah Jane about that, but would she even know?  It appeared she knew the lore of how to time travel initially, but not that much about how to get back home.  She bit her lip in consideration.  It wouldn't hurt to stay while she was figuring that out, and she would need some place to stay.  At least John Smith wasn't a creep. 

"Wouldn't that be improper, my staying here?"

"If I am your employer, no.  Although, I hardly think you'll have use for the money we use, so far from your own.  So, I do believe we'll have to go into town and get you some clothes.  The women here also pin their hair up, if you weren't aware."

She nodded.  "I've... I've studied this time period rather extensively."

He grinned at her.  "Well, brilliant!  Come along then, before the customers come."

"What do you even sell?" 

He settled back in his chair, sensing she wasn't about to give up on this subject any time soon. "You'll find me foolish, Miss Tyler, being a woman of the future as you are."

The easy smile that had been settled on her face faltered.  "You're not foolish."

"I am, I am."  He waved her off.  "But that hardly matters.  I have a typewriter, and that's a bit of a... Well, it's a bit of a novelty around these parts, so I take dictations in return for payment. I also sell my inventions, if they're clever enough to be mass produced."

"I'm sure they are," she assured him.  

He wrinkled his nose.  "They're science concepts, really rather boring to a social woman like you, I'm sure.  Come on, now, we'll have to go into town and get you clothes."  He motioned for her to stand and she did.  He got to his feet at the same time as her, and part of her knew it was out of respect and flushed a little at the attention that was certainly lavished on every woman.  It had never been lavished onto her before.  

"How are you going to explain where I came from, Mr. Smith?" She asked, "I really don't want people to think I'm a floozy or anything."

He looked more than a little confused at her words.  "A... Miss Tyler, what is a 'floozy'?"

She felt her eyes widened.  Of course, that word hadn't been invented yet, what was she thinking?  She scratched the back of her neck.  "Oh, well, it means... It means... Oh, it doesn't matter, let's just go."

He laughed and preceded her towards the door.  "To answer your question, I'll simply tell them that you were in dire need, and, being the kind man I am, I took you in and offered you a position."

"Shall I be an amnesiac?"

"Not necessary. Perhaps your family is just a long ways away and you've come to rather like this tiny town outside of London."

They walked out the door and John offered her his arm.  Started again by the chivalry, she threaded her arm through his, and they set off walking together. 

"You seem surprised," John said after only a few steps.  "Do men not take a lady's arm when escorting her somewhere in your time?"

Rose shook her head.  "No, not unless they're terribly old fashioned.  They usually hold hands, if they're attached to the girl, and if they're just friends, you know, no romantic interest, they don't touch at all."

John sniffed.  "Then how is another man to know who that woman belongs to?"

She bit her lip to keep from smiling.  "Well, in my time women don't really belong to anyone."  Upon seeing the panicked look of a man who was about to backpedal and apologize, she quickly amended, "Of course, seeing as you're my boss now, I'd say this would be appropriate for any time."

John let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief.  "Yes, well, you certainly aren't looking to court any of the town boys, I presume." 

She had to resist the unbidden urge to rest her head on his shoulder.  "Oh, no, of course not."

When they reached the town, she felt very out of place in John's mother's frock.  It was thin compared to the ones the women in the town were wearing.  Their skirts were full and clearly many layers, and Rose was relieved to see that most women had dresses with short sleeves.  They were beautiful, but Rose felt she'd look ridiculous in one.  She swallowed hard and gripped at John's arm a little harder.  He patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm and leaded her easily through the streets to what Rose's mum would call an 'old timey shop' advertising the latest style of clothing and hats and hair pieces.  Rose, feeling smaller and more out of place than ever, followed as John dragged her along into the store.  

The woman behind the counter was loud and ginger, already shouting at another customer who clearly didn't grasp the pricing system in the town.  

"That's my cousin," he said quietly, his head bent next to her ear.  "Donna!" He shouted to the woman. 

Donna, the red-headed woman, turned around and grinned brightly. "Spaceman!" She said fondly, abandoning her other flabbergasted customer and beckoning to John and Rose.

"Spaceman?" Rose asked, unable to repress a smile.

John was blushing quite madly and looking anywhere but at her.  "It's just an old nickname.  Always had my head in space, she said, always dreaming impossible things."

"Not so impossible," she whispered in his ear.  "From the future, remember?'

He grinned at her.  "I'll have to hear about that."

"Oi, are you going to talk to me, or just stand there like an idiot?" Donna snapped.  Rose found herself laughing.  This woman was not unlike herself with her boldness.  The approached the counter and Donna looked Rose over.  "And who, may I query, is this?"

John explained their rehearsed story, trying his best to leave out her 'nakedness' but it had to be mentioned to explain what she was wearing when Donna noticed.

"Is that your mum's?" She asked softly, fingering the sleeve of Rose's dress. 

"Oh.  Yes, well, she didn't have anything else.  That's why we're here, to get her some proper clothes."  John tugged at his ear, now uncomfortable.  "She... It fits her quite well.  Were these clothes still in style I would recommend she wear them."

Donna leaned over the counter to peer down at Rose's feet.  "Well, the boots are just fine, and under all these skirts we're wearing these days, no one will see.  Come, love, your new suitor can wait over there."

Rose giggled as John stuttered out, "Donna, I am her  _employer."_

Donna really was an expert with fashion. She'd picked Rose out dresses of seemingly every color, all of them flattering her beautifully, some with sort sleeves, two with long.  She gave her hair pins and a brush and other lovely things for her hair that Rose tried to decline, but Donna wouldn't let her. 

"Listen, love, you've got nothing," she said sympathetically.  "The least you can do is let me give you some things for free."  She held up a finger and rummaged around in a hidden drawer.  She pulled out a pristine bottle of perfume.  "Also free," she said, handing it to Rose.  "Please try to pull that cousin of mine.  He needs someone. You might just be the one."

Donna looked so serious and sincere that Rose had to look away.  She didn't need to know that she might be leaving.  She bit her lip.  "Donna, he's..."  She cast a glance over her shoulder. 

"He's what?" Donna asked patiently. 

Rose remembered how he took her in and took care of her and let her head hang, looking down at the bottle.  "He's perfect," she said softly.

"Really?  I think he's a beanpole, myself," Donna wrinkled her nose and succeeded in making Rose laugh.

While they were in the back room, Donna helped Rose into one of her new dresses, a white thing with blue trim.  The sleeves were blessedly short even though below her waist she had several layers of clothes on.  Donna showed her how to pin her hair into a simple updo and finished it with a spray of perfume to her wrists and one to her chest.  She threw Rose a wink before handing her a massive bag with her old clothes and all the new ones inside. 

John took the bag from her once she exited the back room.  His gaze scraped over her in an awe-stricken fashion.  "You look lovely," he said quietly.  He seemed to snap out of his reverie when he saw her blush and he cleared his throat.  "Yes, well, Donna, how much do I owe you?"

Donna thought for a moment.  "Whatever you've got on you."

John pulled a wad of money out and handed it to Donna. "That's all I've got," he said apologetically.  

"It'll do just fine," Donna said as she sifted through it.  "Provided Rose comes back here every once in a while."

Rose grinned.  "I'd love to."

They bid each other goodbye and John held out his arm for Rose's again.  He had trouble navigating the streets initially, with their purchases on one arm and her on the other, but he simply didn't want to relinquish her.  It was really an odd feeling, that. 

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can," her nervous voice broke through his thoughts.

He offered her a smile.  "Please, think nothing of it, my little time-traveler."  

She returned his smile.  "Thank you."

"Of course.  Now, hop to, Miss Tyler, for we've got to put all your things away before the people come calling."

 


	4. Chapter 4

John surprised Rose by helping her put away all her new clothes.  When they came down to John's mother's dress, Rose pulled out the folded parcel carefully, and handed it to him.  "Thank you," she said solemnly, "For letting me borrow something so precious."

He smiled at her and took the dress from her hands before setting it in the crate with his mother's other things.  "Miss Tyler, they are but things.  It was my pleasure to lend you something of use."  He cleared his throat and glanced around, "I should show you the lowest level, it is where we will spend a good bit of time," he sounded regretful, and that wouldn't do, so she offered him a grin.

"Is it as dingy as a mad scientist's lab is in the stories?" She asked, a teasing note in her voice.

His lip quirked up and he gestured for her to precede him from the room as he said, "Miss Tyler, your time must have the most interesting stories of all."

"I like to think so, yeah."

"Yeah."

She giggled at his use of the word again.  It seemed as though he was getting used to and liking the feel of the word upon his tongue.  He led her to what looked to be a raised cellar door.  When he opened it, she was surprised to see light coming back up at her.  He walked down a few of the creaky steps and held his hand up for her.  "Watch your step," he said, "I'll help you along."  She placed her hand in his and they made the slow descent down the stairs.  She very nearly slipped, the heel of her boot getting caught in a particularly worn groove in the wood, but he caught her easily. 

"Steady, there," he said softly. 

"How is it light?" She asked, "We're a touch underground, I don't know if you've noticed."

He let out a loud laugh.  "No, we're not all the way underground, just a 'touch', as you said.  But, I suppose that's one of my inventions."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and she found herself staring at all the things that were around her.  He had wooden tables set up with bubbling experiments and books with pages torn or yellowed or stained from some strange solution.  He had glasses here and there, scattered around.  At the far end of the surprisingly homey-looking basement, there was a large desk with an oil lamp and seemingly endless papers and ink wells and pens.  Almost looking as an afterthought, his typewriter was crammed onto the desk, a half-full paper stuffed into it.  This was the office of a man who never stopped working, Rose supposed, which gave her a good idea as to why his actual home was so sparse.

She glanced over to what appeared to be a large window, where the light was coming in, but there was no window there at all.  There was only glass, with wood behind it. Rose furrowed her brows and looked at John.  "What's that?" She asked, "How do you get light in here?"

John beamed and tugged her over to the window.  "Look up," he said, tilting his temple against the pane of glass to demonstrate.

Rose quirked a brow at him but followed his example.  In looking up, she saw that the wood merely dug up to the break in the earth, and the sunlight was shining through there.  Looking down, she saw that the light was bouncing off a mirror that was placed at the bottom of the wood chanal, flooding the room with light.  She let her jaw dropped and looked at the two other windows in the room.  Sure enough, those windows did the same thing, letting the room feel like a parlor, even halfway underground.  "Oh, you are brilliant," she breathed.  She turned her head to look next to his desk and saw a door.  "A  _door?"_

He laughed at her as she flung the door open, finding stairs leading upwards before her.  She let out a breathless laugh, and shut the door again.  "I didn't see any of this when I first got here," she admitted to him. 

"Well, you wouldn't," he said, his hands clasped together in front of him.  "The majority of it spills out at the back of the house.  I do reckon that I spent about four years doing this."

"And the floor is wood!  A basement with a wood floor!  Oak!"

He wrinkled his nose and looked down at it.  "Actually," he corrected her, "There's a proper foundation under the wood, I just wanted something more friendly.  After all, it is sort of a place of business, you know?"

"Of course," Rose nodded.  "So, as your assistant, do I get a fancy desk?  My own secretary?  A time slot to use the typewriter?"

His eyes lit up at that.  "Of course, you've never used a typewriter, have you?"  he seemed excited to show her, and was even more enthusiastic when she agreed with his statement.  He walked around to the desk, gesturing for her to sit in the chair in front of the typewriter.  He pulled it out for her and she sat in it, trying not to blush at the chivalry.  It was normal here, after all. 

Unfortunately, she wasn't really as subtle as she was hoping she would be.  "Come now," John said, "You can't possibly expect me to believe that men do not pull out chairs for their young women."

Rose glanced up at him.  "Well, not for me."

His gaze softened significantly and his hand clenched at his side, as though he were trying very desperately not to touch her.  "Miss Tyler, they very well should."

She laughed a little, dropping her eyes from his.  He showed her where to put her fingers and seemed surprised that she already knew where the 'home keys' were.  She lifted a shoulder.  "We've got these things back home, computers, we call them.  Will it be a paradox if I tell you?"

"I imagine so," he told her, albeit reluctantly, "Although, I would love to hear about all that nonsense your people seem to get up to."

She giggled and wiggled her fingers on the keys, "Well, Mr. Smith, you'd best show me how to do this.  I've never used one you have to take paper out of, or put paper in."

Rose never imagined that a man teaching her how to use a piece of machinery could be romantic, but somehow John managed to do it.  He changed the paper so she wouldn't mess up what he was working on and showed her how to put in another paper.  He dictated to her slightly, telling her things to start with, like her name and birthplace.  She typed in his name, too, just to tease him, and she heard a gentle laugh from next to her.  More than once his hands brushed hers of his chest brushed her back and murmured apologies met her ears.   

It was maddening, that he wouldn't touch her purposefully, because something about him was intoxicating.  She thought all people in this time were stodgy and old and never kind and always boring.  John cracked jokes, and had a lovely laugh, and every word he said was laced with so much excitement that she couldn't help but be interested. 

"You know, Miss Tyler, I might have to dictate my letters to you," he said teasingly, "I hope you wouldn't hate that too much."

"No, this is fun.  And, I'll remind you I signed up for this," she told him, typing and wiggling around in her seat playfully.  She heard him give a light huff of laughter beside her, but it quickly died. 

"I have hardly known you for twelve hours and I find that I will miss you when you leave."

His words sent an odd sort of pain shoot through her, something like longing, a niggling in the back of her mind chanting  _stay, stay, stay forever._ She closed her eyes, composing herself for a moment before opening them again and chancing a look up into his face.  He looked sad, not quite heartbroken, not like his voice would suggest he looked, but sad nonetheless.  She wanted to reach up and cup his cheek, to hold him close to her and promise him that she would be by his side for as long as possible.  She knew she couldn't promise that. 

"Well, I'm not leaving yet, Mr. Smith.  I'm afraid you're rather stuck with me as I muddle a bit through all of this.  I'm not really, I dunno, a proper lady or anything."

He smiled down to her, a graceful look that tugged her heart because it suited his features.  "I am sincerely glad of that on all counts, Miss Tyler."

"Flatterer," she scolded him, rolling her eyes at him.  

He dictated to her quietly for a bit longer, his mouth getting ever closer to her ear, his hand braced on the back of her chair, the heat of his skin touching her dress.  He was just getting to the point where his breath was brushing her ear when a knock on the door sounded, shattering the heaven they'd created around them.  

John jumped suddenly, and cleared his throat violently.  "Right!" he said, probably too loudly, and strode to the door.  He opened it up to reveal a young man grinning at him. 

"Hello, Smith!"

"Oh, hello, Jack," John let the man, who was violently American, into the basement.  Rose stood up, remembering how the men were in this time.  

John shut the door behind the other man, who was presumably Jack, and watched him approach Rose.  

"And, Mr. John Smith, have you been hiding her in this basement all this time?" He bowed shallowly to Rose and she held out a hand.  He gripped her hand tightly and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles.  "Jack Harkness, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She couldn't stop herself from laughing.  "Rose Tyler, nice to meet you."

Jack grinned and dropped her hand, turning to look at a very put out John.  "John, I'm here for a bottle of that cream Reinette likes," he said, rocking back on his heels. 

"You and that French woman," John rolled his eyes and nudged his friend in the shoulder.  "Tell me, it's not giving her a rash, is it?"

"No, it's brilliant.  She says it's de-aging her."

"That's impossible."

"Well, tell her that."

"I will, thanks."

"Better not," Rose chimed in, chuckling, "You might lose business if you do that."

"Right in one, Miss Tyler," John replied as he filled a bottle with whiteish cream with an odd looking twisty contraption.  It seemed to be made out of various household items.  When he finished filling up the glass bottle, he put a stopper in it and added a label with what seemed to be an adhesive, but Rose wasn't sure how that was possible. 

"Really, John, who is this?"

"She's my assistant," John said simply, bringing the bottle back over to them.  Rose appeared to be in his way, as he laid the lightest of touches to her back before pressing past her to Jack.  She was a little frustrated when her breath hitched involuntarily in her throat.  John gave her an odd look, as though he was worried for her health, and Jack took the bottle.

"Don't know when you picked her up, John, but she's a fine one," he grinned winningly at her.  "But I'm afraid I must be going."  He fished out some coins and placed them in John's hand.  John murmured a thanks and stuffed the money into his pocket.  The men shook hands and Jack kissed Rose's hand again and threw her a wink before leaving the basement, leaving them alone again.

They stood in silence, looking at each other, trying to re-patch the moment that had been broken before.  Rose wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his neck, just to see what he did.  She saw his Adam's apple bob with a swallow, though, and looked away, knowing that she really shouldn't.  She didn't want to be the town tart after she'd left. 

"Is-" She cleared her throat.  "Is Reinette his wife?"

John scoffed and moved to clear some papers away.  "Reinette is one of his mistresses.  He gets around, that one."

"So he  _does_ have a wife?"

"No," John looked at her, confused.  "Just mistresses."

She laughed, "No, see, where I'm from, mistress means someone you cheat on your wife with."

John seemed appalled at the very thought.  "That... That is  _deplorable,_ not only to have a word for it, but to make it sound condonable!"  He screwed his face up.  "Hang on, that's not a word."  John turned his attention back to her, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at his manic changes in topic.  "Hang  _on,_ you didn't even seem surprised that he... Knows, biblically, many women."

"It's common in the twenty-first century," she shrugged. 

He sputtered and straightened his clothes.  "I truly cannot imagine such... Such frivolity raging rampant.  It's one thing when it's an anomaly, but where you say you are from... Miss  _Tyler."_

She laughed again.  "Well, I haven't, if that makes you feel better about the whole situation.  Not everyone does it."

His gaze softened.  "Then it would appear, Miss Tyler, that you are truly one in a million.  Come, I shall teach you more ways of this beast," he gestured to the typewriter.  She sat down in the chair and he cleared some papers to perch himself on the desk next to the machine.  She had a feeling this was not a move he did casually, what with her hand now being so close to his leg.  They spent the better part of the afternoon talking in low voices, the typing of the typewriter the only thing accompanying them. 

Rose felt... Bliss.  


	5. Chapter 5

When the evening was not very old, the oil lamps now lit, casting gentle glows across John's and Rose's faces, a knock sounded at John's door.  He allowed his hand to skim across her upper back as he excused himself from her side on a murmur.  She found that the lack of contact, despite the obvious attraction, was making her crave his touch even more.  Of course, he found it inappropriate to touch her, and if she could change his mind on it, she'd find herself an accomplished woman indeed.

It was a woman this time, young and brunette and Rose found herself immediately trying to find an excuse to get away.  Of course, she was foolish to think that a man as wonderful as John didn't have women who wanted desperately to be with him.  She stood up and dusted her completely clean hands off on her dress.  "Well, I'll just go up and... Start dinner, John."

"Oh, no," John caught her elbow, preventing her from leaving, an earnest look in his eyes. "Please stay.  This is Janine Wilkens.  I often take dictations for her letters to her husband.  He is often abroad."

Mrs. Wilkens smiled willingly at Rose and the tight knot in her stomach loosened.  She breathed out a sigh.  "Alright.  Hello Mrs. Wilkens.  I'm Rose."

The woman reached out and grasped her hand briefly.  "A pleasure to meet you," she said, smiling.  "I daresay Mr. Smith has himself a find in you."

Rose blushed and failed to notice how John's gaze locked on the pink of her skin.  "Oh, no, we're not married, I just traveled here, I'm Mr. Smith's assistant."

Janine covered her mouth with delicately gloved fingers.  "Oh, pardon me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Not at all," Rose rushed to assure her.  "You didn't make me uncomfortable, I promise."

"I think we should really start this letter, don't you think?" John said, clapping his hands together.  "I regret that you lovely women will have to stand.  I'm very sorry."

"It's alright," both women replied at once, and grinned at each other. 

John chuckled and took his seat.  "You and Rose will be excellent friends, I'll wager, Mrs. Wilkens."

"Yes, well, I should like to call more often, since Rose is rather new.  And you shall certainly be busy, Mr. Smith."  Janine said, offering Rose a friendly smile over his head as he fed a paper into the typewriter and prepared to start up his dictation.  

John smiled and rested his hands on the keyboard.  "I shall be loath to release her, Mrs. Wilkens, but I'm sure she will need the companionship of a woman.  I cannot speak of shoes quite so freely."

Rose laughed and tried to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair.  She laced her fingers together in front of her to give herself something to do.  She forced a smile, now feeling a rather uncomfortable moment in her own head.  Mrs. Wilkens cleared her throat and Rose made herself listen to the other woman's dictation. 

"My dear husband, I hope you will find your travels of Italy charming," Mrs. Wilkens began.  "I hope it is not being too dulled by business."

The sound on John's fingers clicking on the keys threatened to draw Rose's attention, but she forced herself to focus on Janine's words and the beauty and love that she poured into them.  It was very clear, from the way she spoke, that she loved him dearly.  She was staring off into the distance as she spoke, in the space above Rose's head, lost in a world she existed in only with her husband.  Her finishing lines made Rose's heart tug in a way she was unsure of and didn't quite understand. 

"I look forward to joining you in two fortnights.  You needn't worry about the children, I've got a sitter.  I cannot wait to see your shining face, my husband.  You are my heart and soul, dear one.  I love you endlessly, Janine."  She paused, as though figuring out if she were done or not.  Finally, she nodded and turned back to John, fishing some money out of her coin purse.  "Thank you, so much, Mr. Smith."

"Of course," he released the paper from the trap of the typewriter and blew on it to dry the ink.  Finally, he pulled an envelope from his drawer and inserted the letter into it.  "Here we are, then," he said, sealing it with candlewax and a simple circular seal.  H handed her the letter and she smiled happily, as though the letter were a ticket to Italy itself.

John stood and exchanged formalities with Mrs. Wilkens.  She surprised Rose by hugging her briefly before bidding goodbye and exiting the house. 

"She really loves him," Rose said, nearly wistfully, as she stared at the door after Mrs. Wilkens. 

"Yes.  She speaks very highly of him, even when they have a row," John said.  He smiled widely at her, changing the subject.  "I believe you said something about supper?"

She returned his smile, her mind still a little far away.  She thanked her mother inwardly for teaching her how to cook at a young age.  "Yes, well," she said, "I suppose I can do that.  Do you have any food in here?" 

He wrinkled his nose.  "More or less."

"Just bread?"

"Meat," he said, sounding sheepish.  

"Won't it be rotten? You don't have a refrigerator, do you?"

"I have a small one.  This time I'm a bit ahead of you, Rose Tyler!  The refrigerator was invented in the 1700s!"

Rose blinked.  "Was it?  Well, I'm impressed."

"You should be."

Rose giggled and made her way up the stairs.  She heard John lock the basement door and shut off the lamps, following her upstairs.  She felt safer walking up the stairs with him behind her, with as rickety as they were.  

John showed her his fridge.  It was a tiny thing that somehow kept things a little bit cold, but not enough for Rose to be terribly impressed by it.  Instead she hummed in the back of her throat and pulled out a slab of beef he had left in there.  She set it on the counter and looked over at the stove.  It looked like she would practically be sticking the thing in fire to cook it.  

He directed her around the kitchen, and was shocked to see her sprinkling pepper all over the beef.  "Miss Tyler, what exactly are you doing?"

She gave him an odd look.  "Seasoning.  You're supposed to."

"Am I?"

Rose smiled at him sympathetically.  "I promise, you'll like it."

By the time she'd finished cooking, he'd had to light the oil lamps around the house.  She plated the simple meal of meat and bread, humming along to an odd tune that was stuck in her head.  John came to stand before her and swept her into an extravagant waltz, making her drop the plate onto the table.  She giggled but kept humming.  He pulled her around playfully, and eventually he caught onto the simple pop tune and hummed along with her.  She was painfully aware of his hand touching hers, his other on her back.  Her fingers on his shoulders made the tips run into his hair.  She licked her lips and continued the song, softly singing it instead of humming.  He ceased any sound and listened to her, his eyes boring deep into hers.  They slowed their dancing until it was simply a rocking back and forth motion.  It turned into her watching him and singing, his nose almost touching hers with their insisted closeness.  

His fingers flexed on her back and she heard him swallow as the last bit of the song tapered out, leaving her lips in a few final sweet notes.  John sighed contentedly.  "I've never heard a song like that," he whispered, the quiet voice fitting the mood.  "From your time, I presume?"

"Yeah," she whispered back, feeling his breath hit his face and bounce back to hers.  Her breath hitched at how close they were, and she bit her lip.  "Yeah, it's from my time, and it's pretty popular."

"I can see why, though I can't imagine that the singer would be better than you."

She smiled softly.  "I'm not a singer."

"You could be." 

They watched each other, a deadlock of wanting more and knowing it wasn't acceptable.  Finally, John leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek.  It was slow and lingering, not a chaste, friendly kiss.  Her eyes fluttered closed as he pulled away, his breath coming out in pants.  He was breathing awfully heavily for someone who'd done nothing but kiss her on the cheek, but she realized he'd probably never done anything of the sort before.  They weren't allowed to kiss, obviously, and so, of course, everything else was out of the question as well.  Her hand tightened in his and his gripped hers in return. 

"John," she breathed out, tipping her chin up. 

He swallowed hard and his gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips.  "Rose, I... I didn't mean to... I shouldn't..."

"You don't have to," she insisted, not wanting to pressure him in any way. 

He kissed her cheek again, quicker this time, but no less sweet, and pulled back from her slowly.  "Yes, well,  _supper,_ yes, supper, brilliant meal, and you have used seasoning, if you recall."

She barely recalled, if she was honest.  She laughed at his manic behavior and sat down across from him, gesturing to his plate.  "Tell me what you think," she said.

"Grace," he said bluntly, "We, uh, we haven't said grace, I'm sorry, I was distracted."

She blinked at him, and it all pieced together in her head.  "Oh, yeah, right, okay," he reached his hand across the table for hers and she took it, their fingers wrapped around each other and the warmth coursing between them.

 He bowed his head and murmured a quiet thanks.  She didn't miss the way he whispered, "And by the way, thank you for bringing me Rose Tyler," before he reached an amen.  She bit her lip to keep back a smile as he cut into his meat and took a bite of it.  He watched her as he chewed thoughtfully, and his eyebrows rose.  "That's brilliant!" he said. 

She laughed.  "How long has it been since someone's cooked for you?" She asked, furrowing her brows. 

"Years," he replied, and she could tell that it wasn't a joke.  She nodded slowly and knew that it must've been whatever happened to his mother to make him withdraw, to keep women at a distance. 

"Well, it's a good thing I'm here, then," she said, giving him a beaming grin.

She asked him about what he did, just to change the subject, afraid he would slide into it and dwell, and he responded quite enthusiastically.  He told her of the cream he'd made that he'd sold to Jack for Reinette, and how it kept people's hands from feeling too dry, but Reinette had thought to use it on her face.  "Honestly, I think she just forgot it was just for her hands," John divulged, "She's that sort of woman."

Rose couldn't resist laughing.  "Oi, you don't know I wouldn't have made the same mistake," she pointed out. 

"You know much more than I, Miss Tyler."

"You'd be wrong in that," Rose replied, "This is your world.  You can tell me anything and everything about anything here.  I didn't even know you had a fridge."

John smiled.  "You're obviously more knowledgeable than I in the matters of your world."

"You would know just as much as I did if you were there for just a day," she said simply.  "The culture would probably bother you.  As you must've guessed, the women dress a bit differently there than they do here."

John flushed a little at the memory.  "Yes, well, you were a bit, well, exposed."

"I've worn less to school."

John coughed.  "Rose, I believe you would test the patience of a Saint."

Rose smirked and took a sip of water from a tin cup.  "Well, then, I suppose it's good, _John,_ that you are no Saint."

He shivered and she noticed.  "I could continue this, but I find it-"

"Inappropriate.  I'm sorry."

His eyes darkened.  "Don't be."

They cleaned up after dinner, or supper, as John was still calling it, and Rose announced she was going to bed.  "I'm a bit wired," she said, starting to take the pins out from her hair, securing them in her bodice to keep them safe.  "Don't suppose you have a book I could read?"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.  "Do I have a book," he murmured to himself, walking into the next room.  He pulled a leather bound book off a shelf and handed it to her.  "Great Expectations," he told her, "Dickens.  I think you'll like it."

"I've read some Dickens."

John raised his eyebrows.  "Oh!  He continues on, then?"

"Of course he does.  His books are classics."  She flipped through the pages.  "I've never seen a book quite so lovely though."

He smiled proudly.  "Well, glad that you could borrow mine.  You'll find an oil lamp upstairs.  Goodnight."

Rose bit him goodnight and walked up the stairs, but halfway up she realized he'd need to release her from her dress.  She crept back down and found him in a chair, glasses perched on the end of his nose.  He looked up upon her entrance.

"I need let out of this thing," She whispered, and he chuckled.  He walked up behind her and swept her hair away from the back of her neck.  He slowly undid the back of the dress, his hands brushing against her skin more than once.  Her eyes fell closed at his touch.  He murmured an apology as his fingers touched the dimple in her lower back.  "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be."

She went to bed and read her book, but was still rather wired. 


	6. Chapter 6

She sat up for about an hour, trying to read "Great Expectations".  Unfortunately, she was feeling very distracted, primarily because of one Mr. John Smith.  She thought she'd find the men of this time boring, but now she realized that they were anything but.  Between Jack Harkness and his many mistresses and John, she found the men fascinating.  But even Jack paled in comparison to John.  He was one of a kind, clever and enthusiastic and he was well on his way to steal her away from any logical thought. 

Sighing, she pressed her forefinger and thumb to her forehead and tried to shut her mind off.  It was foolish, to start to fall for such a man.  It was also hard not to.  He'd swept her up, pulled her into a dance that she sang the tune to, and never before had she felt so much from a simple kiss on the cheek.  He brought a part of her alive that she hadn't known existed.  And, if she was right, as she often was about these sorts of situations, he was struggling quite a bit to not cave in to something he felt for her.  He was doing a better job at it than she.  She'd blatantly flirted with him and although he'd reciprocated it briefly, he'd also told her it couldn't continue.  That was going to be difficult when he was going to have to button her into her dresses every day.  

Rose fell back on her bed, throwing the book on the bedside table.  She was obsessed.  She scolded herself with how quickly it had happened.  She was an idiot of the highest order.  Grumbling to herself, she turned off the oil lamp and snuggled deep under her covers. 

Had anyone asked Rose what she thought about the 1860s, she would've said much about 'early to bed, early to rise.'  However, John didn't seem to be too strict when it came to that.  She woke far after the sun was up, and when she changed into a cream white dress, struggling to button it herself but figuring out a creative way to do it, not wanting to bother John save for at night, mostly for her own sanity, she thought about going downstairs.  Remembering she had to pin her hair, she did so, slowly and with care in front of the tiny mirror John possessed that was in her room.  She wondered if he used one, and if he didn't, did that really give him the right to look so gorgeous?

When she was finished pinning her hair and finished with a sigh and a thought of "well, this is as good as it's going to get", she walked downstairs.  She was puzzled to find that John was not anywhere downstairs.  It appeared he was an even later riser than she.  She did find, however, that he'd left a little purse of money on the table with a note. 

_Rose,_

_Here is some money for you to go to town and buy anything you should want or need for today._

_John_

She grinned a little at the note and picked up the little purse.  If she hurried, she could go to town and pick up some things for breakfast, since he had literally almost nothing in the house.  She did a quick run through of everything he had, which wasn't very much.  One pot and a few wilted vegetables were all that was left.  

Not knowing how to leave a note back, since he hadn't left any sort of writing material, she folded up the note into a little origami crane and set it back down, hoping she would know that it meant she had received the note and that she would be back very soon.  

She remembered the way to town, and wavered a bit, realizing she didn't know quite what to buy.  She glanced around the busy streets and walked into Donna's shop, hoping she was there.  Luckily, the boisterous redhead was there, already bellowing, even so early.  She turned around and grinned when she saw Rose.  "Oi!  Luke, John's lady is here!" She walked over to Rose and took her hands. "What brings you here without my brother in tow?"

Rose laughed, "He's not got anything at the house, I thought I could surprise him with some real food and pots and things before he gets up.  Not sure I'll be that fast."

Donna rolled her eyes.  "That man can sleep through anything, and he will.  You'll be back in time."

"That's just the thing.  I'm not sure what to get or how to get it," she shook her head, "Obviously I'm not from around here."

A young man came out just as Donna was opening her mouth to reply and smiled at Rose.  "Hello, there," he said, stepping towards her.  Donna dropped her hands, and, remembering protocol, Rose reached out and set her hand in his.  He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before dropping it.  "My name is Lucas."

"I'm Rose.  Tyler, that is, sorry, Rose Tyler."

Although the young man was attractive, Rose was nearly immediately turned of because he obviously  _knew_ that he was attractive.  And he wanted Rose to think he was attractive, despite the fact that he thought she belonged to John.  That alone made her jaw set in anger.  She gave him a tight smile and turned back to Donna.  "Could you possibly help me out?"

"Absolutely," Donna said, "I'll be back in an hour, Luke," she took Rose by the arm and pulled her right out the door.  "I hope that goose left you money," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, of course he did," Rose replied, "He did.  I just don't know what to get."

Donna pulled her through town, helping her pick out wooden and ceramic bowls to mix things in, loads of utensils, and canned goods, which Donna said excitedly were 'all the rage' and 'very new'.  Rose had to bite back a grin at that, but picked up all the things Donna suggested.  It was a lot of protein, she noticed, beans and pork and the like.  Donna also suggested she get things to make bread and sweets.  Rose gulped at the overwhelmingness of it all.

"Don't worry," Donna reassured her, "The man has cookbooks somewhere.  I can't imagine that you've memorized all the recipes from where you're from," she said, arching a brow.

"No, I don't have them memorized," Rose admitted. 

"Didn't think so.  Well, I'll help you carry all these back to his house, did you get the eggs and the frying pan I told you to get?"

"Yes, I did."

" _Good,"_ Donna nodded, "Nothing like eggs in the morning, and John loves them.  Helpful tip."

Rose and Donna chatted happily as they went back up to the Smith household.  Rose had to admit that she liked Donna quite a lot and was glad they got on so well.  She was clearly unusual by the standards of this time, and that made her very enjoyable to talk to.  And, it was very lucky she was around to help out, and carry some of the purchases, which surprisingly, the money had covered.  John was way more loaded than he was willing to let on, apparently.  It made her wonder why he didn't have a larger house.  

Donna bid Rose goodbye after they quietly put all their things away, and Rose thanked her profusely as she left.  Once alone, Rose looked around at all the things she'd bought.  She turned the fire on in the stove, still upset that most everything she cooked she was going to have to shove into it, and started to prepare scrambled eggs.  She cracked them into her new bowls, mixing them with her new fork, and cooking them in her new pan.  She didn't know what else to do, knowing there wan't a lot of other things she could make.  Panicking, she pulled out the bead she'd bought and gave it a quick run through the fire, burning it a bit, and spread a can of beans over the pieces.  Beans on toast. 

Rose found that John had running water.  She furrowed her brows at this.  She knew that in this time, only about five percent of people had running water.  She bit her lip and turned around, setting the glasses of water she filled on the table.  There wasn't any milk, which made her feel a little guilty, because that would've been the finishing touch, but she didn't have time to worry too much about it.  

She supposed they were on a first name basis now so she yelled up the stairs, "John!  Breakfast!"

Quiet met her ears for a few moments, and then she heard his voice, husky with sleep, shout back, "Coming!"

She waited for a few minutes and he came downstairs, fully dressed save for a jacket, which he threw on one of the chairs.  He stared at the food.  "Rose, you are something," he chuckled.  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, as Luke had at the store, but somehow this warmed her heart instead of making her stomach roll.  

"You did all this just this morning?" He asked as he sat down, only after she. 

"Yes, I did," Rose replied, "Donna helped me out."

John grinned.  "I'm glad the two of you get along," he said honestly, "She's a bit hard to deal with."

"She'd be appreciated where I'm from."

John cocked an eyebrow.  "Really?  That's... That's a bit insane, actually."

She smiled and nodded.  "Yeah, my friends back home from school would've liked her quite a lot."

He held his hand out for hers.  "Grace."

She slid her palm along his, and he tentatively gripped hers before bowing his head.  She watched him carefully before bowing her own.  He said a quick grace and whipped his head up, chattering with her again at the very next moment.  He withdrew his hand from hers and she tried not to feel too upset at the fact that he'd removed himself from her. 

He praised her cooking and offered to help her wash up when she was done.  She smiled and declined, but his hand brushed her hip as he passed her and she very nearly lost it right there.  She was ready to pass out nearly every time he accidentally touched her.  And intentional touches, well, those were something else entirely.  Those were nearly painful when she realized he'd have to stop.  She only wished she hadn't had the weight of the clothing of the time keeping her body from his.

"Jack coming by to pick up any more cream?" Rose teased as he set about drying their dishes with a rag. 

"If he does, it won't be for Reinette," John said, "One of the others."

Rose giggled.  "He's quite the ladies' man."

"You, uh, I mean, that is to say, since you and him got on so well, you aren't-"

"Interested?" Rose arched a brow at him and shook her head.  "No.  I'm a one man kind of woman, and he'd have to be a one woman man."  She looked John in the face and said quietly but firmly, "I don't share."

John scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat.   She could've sworn that she saw him about to shiver or do something else, but instead he just looked away from her, licking his lips.  "I've never heard that term."

"What term?"

"'Interested'."

"Hm," Rose dried off her hands, hoping they wouldn't crack with how dry they would surely get.  "Yeah, we use that one.  It's the easiest way to show, well, interest."  She looked at him curiously.  "What would you say?"

"Regarding for courtship."  John said simply, "I'd say that I was regarding a woman for courtship."

"Courtship goes straight to marriage, yeah?"

"Yes."

She wrinkled her nose and made a sound in the back of her throat.  "Boring."

He sputtered, "Boring?  You think that something so profound is boring?" 

"No, no, no, that's not profound," Rose laughed, "Profound is 'I love you forever and want to live my life at your side, forsaking all others.'"  She lifted a shoulder, "But men don't say that."

His eyes widened.  "They don't?"

"No."

"Well, that is just... Rose Tyler, has any man done right by you?"

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing.  "They've done right by me by their time period, not yours."

He hummed in the back of his throats but refused to say anything.  She did notice, though, that his hand brushed her again as he walked past.  "I'll meet you back downstairs when you're ready.  I have a few things to type up."

"Yeah, okay, give me a minute."

He went downstairs, leaving her alone.  She tried not to groan and instead stomped her foot once in frustration.  What was she doing here?  It was really just too perfect. 

Of course, it wouldn't be perfect for long.

 


	7. Chapter 7

After two weeks, Rose lost track of time, and the days kept passing.

This in itself was unusual, because she knew exactly when all of her classes were, knew when everything that was supposed to happen was supposed to happen.  She supposed, though, that while she'd been around men she thoroughly enjoyed before, this was not quite so juvenile.  Something about John drew her in.  He talked of things that he loved, of places he'd been, and how much he wanted to go everywhere.  He grew more and more interested in her time, and she had to figure out what she could and couldn't tell him without ruining things.  She was well aware of paradoxes. 

She quickly became a whiz at the typewriter, even if it was cumbersome and clunky compared to the computers of her time.  She found she liked the clicking of the machine, the satisfactory sounds it made and John's voice running over her as he dictated to her.  He was focusing on mass producing, now that he had an assistant.  He had little bottles of cream lined up, along with a cologne he was trying to make.  He kept smell-testing it on Rose. 

"How's this?" He asked, running back to her at the desk and shoving the bottle under her nose.  She sneezed.  

"It's a bit much," she said, rubbing under her nose.  The initial smell is alright, but you'd have to tone it down."

"Tone it down?" he asked, scrunching his eyebrows up. 

"Make it more subtle," Rose elaborated, turning towards him in her chair.  "You know, a woman likes a smell more like she's being caressed and not punched in the face."

John sputtered, "I would never-"

"-I never said you would!" Rose interrupted, "It's a figure of speech, an expression.  A smell can hit you in all the wrong ways."

"There's a right way to be hit?"  John rolled his eyes at her and walked away.  

She giggled and turned back to her typewriter.  "Like I said, John, caress with the scent."

"Caress with the scent," he repeated, mocking her accent, since it was a little thicker than his own, and she couldn't help laughing at him.  He started dictating to her again as he fiddled with his chemistry.  She was well past the point of thinking that he was going to ruin something with a potentially dangerous chemical.  He knew his stuff, knew exactly what he was doing and where everything needed to go for it to fit just right.  His cream, after all, was a huge success, even if she wasn't one hundred percent sure how he made it.

She typed enthusiastically, trying to get his attention back over to her.  As much as she hated to admit it, as much as she always hated to admit it when it came to him, she wanted his attention like she wanted her next meal.  He wasn't any freer with his touches, they were the best of friends, but sometimes his hand would brush hers or he'd lay a hand on her shoulder as he passed her.  Although, sometimes she fancied she felt a stinging in her cheek where he'd kissed her what felt like a lifetime ago.  Maybe that was what was right, what this would all lead up to.  His lips on hers, claiming her.  She wanted it more than she cared to think about. 

Her purposeful keystrokes finally got a chuckle out of John.  "What are you doing?" He asked her, amusement clear in his voice. 

"Making my work interesting," Rose responded.  

She heard John stand up and walk over to her.  He pulled her up from her chair and swung her around into a dance.  "You were tapping out a beat," he said, his hand flexing against her back.  "You really expect a man not to dance?"

Rose found herself grinning madly as he waltzed her quickly around the room, making sure they dodged all his work tables and experiments.  He was humming happily into her ear, something reminiscent of the twenty-first century song she's dung to him her second night.  He hadn't got it completely, but he was clever and remembered enough of it for her to be able to get what he was trying to do.  

She hummed along with him, and it was a mess, and they ended up laughing so hard they could do nothing but clutch each other and laugh.  His hand smoothed down her back and his lips brushed her ear, quite by accident, as he looked her in the face.  He brushed a wayward hair off her face as they swayed together, grinning at each other like loons.  

He seemed to be getting the urge to say something.  He opened his mouth but closed it again, even as his hands stayed on her.  He swallowed hard, and she followed the movement with her own eyes.  She waited, to see if he would speak, but he didn't, and so she did instead.  "You know, where I'm from... Many more things are appropriate, as I'm sure you know."

John leaned down towards her and her heart swelled at the implications.  "Yes, Rose, I do believe I know that.  I know quite a lot about the future, probably things no other men should know.  Am I incorrect?"

"No, you're not incorrect," the hand on his shoulder, crept up into his hair.  "You are probably the most knowledgeable man in the whole universe."

He pulled her slightly closer.  "I wouldn't know about that."

"I think you would."

"Miss Tyler, I do believe you're having me on," he said, his tone teasing but heavy at the same time.

"Am I?"

They were just watching each other now, breathing heavily.  Rose wanted to be the one to close the distance, to kiss him until he couldn't be kissed any more and the only word he could remember was her name.  That's what she wanted.  But she knew it had to be up to him, had to be his choice.  They were in his world, after all.  She stroked the underside of his jaw with her thumb, silently telling him that she was waiting, and would continue to wait. 

He let out a shuddering breath and gave her the lightest and sweetest kiss imaginable, though it only lasted a moment.  He pulled away and stared at her in shock, as though he couldn't believe he'd done that.  She laughed, a nervous, breathy laugh that he joined in on.  

"I've never..." His voice trailed off in wonder, his thumb stroking her waist. She was really terribly frustrated that she couldn't really feel it through all her layers of clothes.

"I know," She said, biting her lip.  "I want-"

She was cut off by a knock at the door, and they jumped apart with painful force.  She felt cold without his touch and instantly wanted to jump him again and tackle him right to the floor, dancing and gentility be damned.  Instead, though, she walked to the door and opened it, revealing a beaming Jack Harkness.

"Cream?" She asked as he entered.

"Yeah," he shook John's hand and looked back at Rose.  "You look a little flushed, Rosie, are you feeling ill?"

"She's quite well," John said stiffly, tightening his tie.  "Here's your cream, Jack."  He handed Jack the container.  

Jack wrinkled up his nose as he took the cream.  "What's that smell, John?"

"He's mixing up a new cologne," Rose said, trying not to fan herself.  She  _was_ feeling flushed, but she knew it wasn't because she was ill.  It was just a kiss, she really needed to get a hold of herself.  But, if the way John was looking, he was just as affected as she was.  

"Yes, Rose was telling me it should be made to caress and not punch," John grumbled, arranging some of his jars. 

Jack let out a loud laugh. "Well, that would be true."  He handed John the money for the cream and kissed Rose's hand. "Goodbye, and good luck on your cologne," he left the basement then, the door slamming with finality behind him.

"John?" Rose tried to get his attention, which didn't seem to work quite as well as she'd hoped.  He seemed deep in thought.  She called his name again and he looked at her, a pained look in his eyes. 

"You're not from here," he whispered.  "You deserve to be in your own time with a good job and a man who loves you and can love you forever."

"John," she choked on his name and stepped forwards, seeing that he was blinking back tears.  "What are you trying to say?"

"You should go home."

"I don't know if I could get back here."

"Good."

The word struck her in the chest.  "You don't want me here."

"No, it's not like that at all!" John took a step to her and gripped her elbow tightly in his hand.  "The problem is, I want you here too much.  I want a ring on your finger and your body in my bed," he flushed deeply at his confession.  "But I can't take you from your world, your people, your family."

She was struck by his admission.  "It's just me and my mum."

"She's your mother though, Rose, she would be worried sick, she must be worried sick now," he turned away from her and ran his hands through his hair. 

"Then come with me!" She cried.  "Please, John, I don't want to leave," she found, as the words left her, that it was true.  She didn't want to leave him.  Somehow, she'd found herself in the past.  

"Why not?" John was crying now, though he was trying not to.  Rose, unable to stay away from him, went to him and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her, his face contorted in grief.  He was having trouble meeting her gaze, and, unable to stand it, she pulled him down to kiss him.  

He sobbed when their lips met, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close against him.  He froze a little, not knowing what to do, but she taught him slowly, moving her lips over his.  He followed eagerly, and she was surprised to find that he was very, very good at it.  

They broke apart panting, but couldn't stop themselves from going in for kiss after kiss.  She finally pulled away and kissed his forehead and cheeks, trying to draw him to her, to keep him close.  His eyes were closed in a sort of reverence.

"I don't want to leave," she said softly, tracing her fingers over his cheek.  

"Go home," he said, "Stay a month.  If you... If you want to come back, I'll find a way to get you back.  And you still have the watch," he told her.  "I couldn't take you from your mother."

She slammed her fists on his shoulders.  "Come with me."

"I can't."

"You could."

"I _can't,_ Rose.  Just go."

Before she could think about it, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.  John hesitated, but finally wrapped himself around her, holding her close.  "I wasn't supposed to feel anything for you," he murmured, "You were just supposed to be my assistant."

"I know," Rose whispered, "me too."

He let go of her.  "I shouldn't have done that."

Rose let her arms drop to her sides and felt her throat tighten.  "Right.  Yeah."

"I didn't mean-"

"Shut up.  You asked me to leave, and I'm leaving.  Goodbye, John."

Before he could stop her and before she could be blinded by tears, she ran up to the room she'd been using and locked the door behind her.  Crying in earnest now, she tested the door to make sure he wouldn't be able to get in and fumbled for the watch, where she'd tucked it away in the wardrobe.  Honestly, she'd forgotten about it and hadn't wanted to use it.  She heard his footsteps on the stairs, but before he could catch her she took a deep breath and pressed the button, flicking the watch open.  Rose Tyler vanished from 1865, leaving traces of herself everywhere.

John reached the door and tried to fling it open.  She'd locked it.  He rested his head on the door and closed his eyes, feeling more hurt by this than he could ever remember feeling.  He knew it was his fault, and he could only hope that she would return.  

"Rose..." 


	8. Chapter 8

Like the last time she'd used the watch, she passed out and woke up with the watch wrapped around her hand.  She wasn't in her dorm room, but rather, Sarah Jane's office in the library.  She sat up slowly and touched her face.  Apparently, the tears had been drying on her face for hundreds of years.  Sighing heavily to herself, she heaved herself to her feet and straightened out her skirt.  She couldn't go out like this, people would think she was mad, and besides, she hadn't known how long she'd been missing.  She sat down in Sarah Jane's seat and laid her head on the desk, drifting into a real sleep that only succeeded in making her escape from her problems. 

She was awakened later by a rough shake of the shoulder.  "It worked!" Sarah Jane's voice crowed, "It really worked!"

Rose sat bolt upright.  "Hi," she said, trying to shake off her shock.

Sarah Jane saw right through Rose in an instant, knowing there was something wrong.  "Oh, Rose, what happened?" She asked.  

Rose's face crumpled up.  "There was this man," she choked out, "And I feel... I want... The both of us did, and we-" she put her head in her hands and Sarah Jane pulled her into a motherly embrace, consoling the poor child.  She felt guilty, knowing it was her fault, because she'd given Rose the watch.  But, despite the hurt in her eyes, there was a light that wasn't there before.  She'd found herself in the past, Sarah Jane could feel it. 

She let her cry for awhile before pulling back and taking Rose by the shoulders.  "Alright, what happened?" She asked softly. 

Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes.   "I woke up in this field, by this lone house.  I went in and this  _gorgeous_ man opened the door.  He's an inventor, a chemist, and Sarah Jane, he's brilliant.  He asked me to be his assistant, and I don't know why, but I said yes.  And finally, he said I needed to come home because I couldn't leave my mum."

Sarah Jane froze.  "You wanted to stay."

Nodding, Rose tried to keep herself from crying again.  "I wanted to stay," she whispered.  "He said that if I still wanted what I wanted after a month, I should come back.  But I don't know how to get back," She lifted the watch with a tearful glare at it, as if it were the little time piece's fault.  

"We'll find a way," Sarah Jane said firmly.  "You were falling in love with him, I can see it in your eyes.  And you loved the time, didn't you?"

"Everyone there was so kind to me.  It was the most I've ever felt I belonged."  She bit her lip and fell back in her seat.  "But maybe it was just because of him.  He made me feel something I never felt before."

Sarah Jane smiled sympathetically.  "Then we've got to get you back."

Rose walked with Sarah Jane back to her apartment, the older woman not wanting her to be alone.  She knew she was miserable, and as her sort-of mentor it would be irresponsible of her to leave her be.  So she dropped Rose off outside of her dorm, regarding her with folded arms.  "Are you going to be alright?" She asked.

Rose nodded.  "I'm going to keep looking for a way, I can't just leave him there.  I care about him, and he told me..." Rose bit her lip, trying to figure out exactly how to phrase it, knowing what he had implied, "Well, he sort of said that he wanted to marry me."

"Oh, Rose," Sarah Jane sighed.

"Do you even believe me?  Do you even believe this happened?" Rose asked skeptically, narrowing her eyes at her friend.  

Sarah Jane nodded emphatically.  "Yes.  I believe you, I can tell you're not lying and I know you're not a loon."  She paused, "I'm going to do some research on my end, to see what I can do to get you back where you want to be.  Maybe you can use the watch again."

Rose stared down at the timepiece in her hand.  "I hope so," she whispered.  

They bid each other goodbye and Rose went upstairs, the skirts feeling heavy and awkward in this place, in the concrete staircase.  She found, however, that she didn't want to take it off.  Not because she liked wearing all those layers, because she really didn't, but the skirts reminded her of him and she was hard pressed to take them off.  She was going to keep it in her closet though, to wear when she went back.  She didn't have anything else, after all.  He'd thought she was naked before. 

When she got to her dorm, she was happy to see that Martha wasn't there.  Probably at class, Rose supposed.  She took her hair out of its gentle updo, placing the pins, decorative and functional, in a little plastic bag which she labeled  _"For John"_ with a permanent marker.  She felt a little foolish doing it, but she knew that if she ever put those pins in again, it would be for him.  She slipped them into a hidden compartment in her desk, not wanting Martha to find them when rooting around for a hairbrush. 

After that, she changed slowly, reminiscing of the feeling of John's fingers against her back as he'd helped her change.  It was much harder to do on her own, twisting her arms awkwardly to try and find the buttons with her fingers, but she eventually did it, having broken a sweat by the time she was done, and she tried to hang it up in the closet.  Unfortunately, it wouldn't hang, it was too heavy, so she had to fold it carefully and set it down on the floor of her closet.  Her fingers traced lingeringly over it before she changed into simple stretch pants and a t-shirt.  She did feel a bit naked, after wearing all those skirts.  

A man had never affected her this way.  Something about John drew her in, made her want to be close to him, to get all dressed up in awful skirts for him, but she also wanted to bring him back into her world.  Drag him back to where she came from, to hold him in her own dorm.  She looked around at the little dorm room.  She found she wanted a  _house._ She wanted a  _house_ with him, a proper life.  Scrunching up her eyes, she wondered how long she had been gone.  It occurred to her that she didn't really know.  She had been so caught up in him, in his inventions, in his spirit, that she lost the calendar all together. 

Unbidden, a sob choked her.  She pressed her hand to her mouth and tried to bite back the tears.  After all, she'd never really cried over a boy before, she wasn't going to start now.  But John wasn't a boy.  He was a man.  Heaving a massive sigh, she walked to the radio she and Martha had set up in the corner and flicked through the channels until she found a classical one.  She let her eyes fall closed and she raised her arms, waltzing around the room alone.

*****************

The day after Rose left, John was a proper mess.  He'd gotten up and cooked himself breakfast, like they'd done together for the past several weeks.  They were pretty much a proper couple in any sense of the word, but he knew that weren't, really.  They weren't courting.  But he'd kissed her. 

And oh, how that woman could kiss.  The memory of her lingered on his lips, on the palms of hi hands.  She was beautiful and wonderful and he found with every passing second he was regretting letting her leave his sight.  He wanted to hold her again, found that he was craving her more and more with each passing second he wasn't with her. 

He'd never felt something like this, something so powerful, for a woman.  Of course, he'd felt attraction for certain women before, but never,  _never,_ had he acted on it.  With Rose, he'd had trouble keeping his hands to himself.  He really hadn't kept his hands to himself, actually.  

It had gotten worse when Jack had arrived on a social call and he'd ended up telling his friend everything.

"Where's Rosie?" Jack asked cheerfully, shutting the door behind him.  He was confused to see John behind the typewriter, as that was usually Rose's seat, and she liked sitting there.  "Still lazing about?"

"She went home," John replied coldly.  The smile slipped from Jack's face.  He pulled a stool over from the opposite side of the room and set it next to his friend, sitting down.  He stared at John. 

"Alright, John, I know that you feel something rather profound for her," Jack said seriously, any teasing note gone from his voice.  "I know it, I have seen it with my own two eyes.  Why would she go home?"

John put his head in his hands, his glasses shifting away and bending a little bit.  "I didn't want her to go, but she needed to be with her mother, Jack.  I could not ask her to stay with me.  I am a broken man, she's worthy of better."

"She wanted to stay with you!" Jack said, his voice raising, "You know she did!  You know she was falling in love with you, that she would've courted and married you in an instant."

"She's not from here!" John stood and paced to the opposite end of the room.

Jack stared after John.  He'd never seen his friend this way before, fired up over a woman, broken not because she was gone, but because he had sent her away.  Jack narrowed his eyes at the other man.  "Is this about your mother and father?" He asked lowly.  "You still don't think you're worthy of love because of what happened to them, still?"

John turned around.  "I'm certainly not worthy of a woman like her."

"You could be.  She makes you happy.  John, you should go after her."  Jack, even though he was a man of many women, knew that John would pick one woman and stay forever.  He had a feeling that Rose, as odd as she was, could be that woman that John needed to repair him of his inferiority complex.  He was brilliant, and Rose could teach him exactly that. 

"I can't go after her," he whispered. 

Jack furrowed his brows, not understanding.  "Why not?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," John turned around and rubbed the back of his neck.  "You really wouldn't believe me."

"I think I would."

"Jack, you really do  _not_ know what you're asking.  You'll think I'm mad."

"I already think you're mad, you can't make me think you're any farther over the edge."

John let out a tight laugh.  "She's from another time."

Jack's eyes all but popped out of his eyes.  "How is it... How?" He sputtered a bit wildly.  

"I know, you might as well call someone to cart me away to the institution now."

"No.  I believe you."

John's eyes snapped up to hers.  "What?  You  _believe_ me?"

Jack nodded solemnly.  "I do.  She was too odd to be from here.  She walked with too much confidence, and her hair can  _not_ be that color all by itself."

"She's beautiful," John said wistfully.

Jack saw through what John was saying and grinned wolfishly, "John Smith, what exactly happened with Miss Tyler?"

John's cheeks burned red and he tugged on his ear.  "I, well, that is to say, I may have kissed her."

Jack let out a whoop and John shushed him wildly.  "You can't tell Donna," he said frantically.  "I'll be  _shunned,_ do you hear me?  And it... I did not... Well, not just once either."

"More than once?  Oh, do tell!"

John sank back into his chair, trying not to stay living in the memories of Rose's lips on his, as beautiful and wonderful as it had been.  She felt like heaven and tasted like rain and there was so much behind their kisses that made his heart beat wildly in his chest.  A heart that, he knew now, would only beat for her.  He let out a heavy sigh.  "Many times, repeatedly..."

"Well, good!" Jack rested his elbows on his knees.  "You've been a prude all your life, John Smith, and Rose Tyler has finally shown you something.  You have to get her back."

"Jack, she's in the future," John told his friend, as if he were stupid.  "I can't just pop round to grab her."

"But she can pop round and get you.  Maybe she will."

"Or she won't."

"She's clearly as mad for you as you are for her," Jack pointed out.  "You can't stay away from her."

"I have to," John said dejectedly, slouching dreadfully in his seat.  "Yes, she said if she still felt the same way in a month she would return, but will she really?"

Jack watched John's expression.  He was completely besotted with this girl.  "Well, you know what that means, don't you?" He asked, arching his eyebrow. 

John heaved a heavy and rather pathetic sigh and turned to Jack.  "What is that, then?" He asked dramatically.  "What must we  _do,_ Jack Harness?"

He stared at him seriously.  "Get her back, of course."


	9. Chapter 9

Rose attended her classes, trying to pretend that it wasn't painful, that it didn't hurt her every moment she was taking notes with a ballpoint pen.  She tried to pretend that her mind didn't wander back to John's smiling face or imagine his words of dictation or how he touched her wistfully, as though he thought he'd never be allowed to do so again.

His kisses had filled her with an odd sense of bliss.  She'd been kissed before, of course she had, this was the twenty-first century after all, but she'd never been kissed like that.  Never with such  _abandon,_ such love.  Of course, she knew that was ridiculous.  He couldn't have been in love with her, he was too good for her.  She was a chav, she reminded herself mournfully, and he was beautiful and kind and far too classical for her.  She had to admit to herself that she  _had_ been falling in love with him, every moment she was with him, every hour they spent in the basement, every meal cooked together.

She lay in bed one night, reminiscing on his touch or his voice and she found that it was true that repression led to obsession.  She sat up, staring over at Martha, who was curled up in a tiny ball, actually asleep.  Rose envied her like hell.  She clambered out of bed and fumbled at her desk for the watch.   _Sod_ a month, she needed to go back.  Maybe if she simply opened it again, it would take her back.  She wanted to go back, she wanted to go to him.  She pressed it open, not even thinking.  She closed her eyes, preparing to pass out and wake up in John's front lawn.  When she didn't pass out, she opened her eyes and stared at the watch.  It read the same time it had before, and she was still in her dorm room.  Rose choked out a sob.  What was this?  All of a sudden, things weren't going to work?

Letting out a cry, she closed the watch and opened it again.  Nothing.  She clicked it over and over, looking like a crazy person, until it seemed very much so like she wasn't getting back.  She continued to do it, however, like that would make it happen.  Finally, tears blurred her vision and she was so hysterical that she collapsed onto the ground in tears.  Jack, Donna,  _John._ She'd never see them again. 

"Oh, my God," She heard Martha's groggy voice distantly, but couldn't be bothered to actually address her.  She was curled up on the floor, the cold metal of the watch digging into her skin.  Her roommate shook her shoulders.  "Rose, Rose, what's happened?"

Rose cried out and sat up, shaking the watch.  "Make him come back, I need him, Martha, I need him!"

"Right, of course, Rose, yeah, go back to bed though, alright?" Martha helped her fall back into bed and reached for the watch.  "Give this to me, Rose, I'll put it back on your desk."

Rose felt herself start to calm at Martha's gentle tone but didn't stop gripping the watch.  She whimpered and opened and closed it two more times.

"Rose, you're going to break it," Martha said soothingly, prying the watch from your fingertips.  "I'm going to put it on your desk, okay, you can look at it in the morning, alright?"

She made an odd sound of agreement and let Martha take the watch.  As promised, she put it on the desk and showed Rose with a gesture of the hand.  Rose covered her face in her hands, suddenly feeling foolish for being like that, clicking a watch like it was her safe haven.  

"Do you want me to get you some tea?" Martha asked, "You can tell me what happened."

"Okay," Rose said feebly.  

**********

John and Jack had been pouring over books in his parlor for hours.  It was the wee hours in the morning, the oil in the lamps burning low.  John was taking furious notes down, equation and hypotheses scribbled in writing only he could read, Jack throwing in one thing or another, some helpful, some not.  John had filled a notebook with his ideas.  A wardrobe was in the basement, he wanted to test it, wanted to  _fix._

"Do you know what you're doing?" Jack asked.

John scratched his head and pushed his glasses up on his nose.  "I think... I think I might have an idea."

"An idea!" Jack shouted, throwing his arms up, "Brilliant!  Yes!"  He got to his feet.  "Let's go downstairs then, John, you've got to do it now if you have an idea."

John groaned and got up as well, bringing his notebook with him.  "I don't  _know_ if it'll work."

"It doesn't matter if you know, we have to try," Jack replied easily.  "Please, John, you have to go get her."

"Even so, I don't know if I'll be able to get it to work in a wardrobe, it was just all I had on hand."

"Well, that rickety old thing isn't being used for anything else. Come, now, John, please, try."

John sighed heavily.  "Is there not a woman to warm your bed tonight, Jack."

"She can wait.  This is more important."

The two men went downstairs, almost tumbling over each other in the darkness.  John lit an oil lamp downstairs and looked at the dusty old wardrobe he'd situated down there to try to form into a time machine.  He had to, was rather obsessed with the idea since Rose had left.  It was all his fault.  He shouldn't have to do any of this.  She could be here, with him, in his arms, but he was a fool and had pushed her away until she had actually left.  He'd never meant for that to happen.  Well, he had, he supposed, he wanted her to be happy, didn't want her to resent him, but surely she would after this.  Maybe she wouldn't even want to see him any more.  The very thought made him deflate in defeat. 

Still, the idea of making a time machine from a wardrobe was a far-fetched idea, but John was becoming a very desperate man.  It had been a week.  Seven days he wished he had spent with her.  Instead, he was not, he was  _here,_ bloody  _here,_ waiting for her with bated breath.  He started pulling out materials he would need and barked orders at Jack, telling him where to put things, what to get.  The other man ran around, grabbing what was being asked of him, wanting John to get back to Rose almost as much as John did.

She haunted John's dreams.  She was with him, kissing him again, holding him in a way no one had before.  She was in his nightmares, nightmares in which he went to the distant future, where, for some reason, everything was white, and she told him that he'd taken too long, that she didn't want him anymore.  Waking moments were spent thought of her, Donna missed her, and so his only other option was to wait by and obsess.  He had to get to her.  He  _had_ to.

They threw together the time machine, wires sticking out everywhere, an odd candle fixed to the top of it, other miscellaneous pieces stuck here and there.  It didn't make any sense, all by itself, but John's notes and writings told him it was correct.  Everything was in place, his theorems were tested and right, but if it didn't work, it was back to the drawing board.  

It took them until early in the morning, the sun just beginning to peek over the hills.  John sat down in his desk chair, thoroughly exhausted.  "I don't think it will work," he said, terribly discouraged.

"You don't know that, try it out," Jack asked.  "It's programmed to go right to Rose."  He looked at the bags under John's eyes and thought again, "Then again, perhaps you should get some rest before your follow after your lady love."

John sighed, resting his head in his hand.  "Perhaps I should.  Return at twelve, Jack, I will be ready then."

*********

Martha sipped her tea and regarded Rose carefully over the table they were sitting at.  "Does this little episode of yours have anything to do with the old-timey dress that's all laid out in the closet?"

Rose tucked her hair behind her ear.  "Yeah."

"You wanna tell me why?"

She rested her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand.  "Martha, I promise, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me.  I'm very open minded."

"You're also a woman of science."

Martha cocked an eyebrow.  "What exactly are you about to tell me, Rose?"

"I'm about to tell you that I traveled in time, back to 1865.  I'm about to tell you that I met a man there, a wonderful,  _brilliant_ man who asked me to be his assistant.  I met his cousin, his friend Jack, who has at least a million lovers, and I learned how to make hand cream."  

Martha blinked.  "Whoa, hang on.  This is very specific.  Where'd this come from?"

"When I went traveling, or said I went traveling, I opened that watch, and it took me back.  Sarah Jane from the library gave it to me, she'd never opened it, wanted to give it to me for the lore.  But it worked."  She sighed heavily.  "And I was trying to get back tonight."

"If you felt this way about that man, that place, why did you come back?"

"Because he said he wanted me to go.  He said that I shouldn't leave my mum, that I should be with my own people, in my own time.  He knew I wanted to stay with him, he... he kissed me, but he kept saying he wanted me to be happy."

Martha watched her carefully but didn't see any lies or trickery in Rose's eyes.  Every word she said was true.  "I want to feel the dress when we get back to the dorm," she said, "I want to see if it's authentic."

Rose nodded.  "Of course."

Martha had some tools from the science lab with her in the dorm, and she tested on the dress when they returned to their room, as well as the underthings and shifts that went under it.  She spent special attention looking at an ink stain on the skirt.  "This is an ink stain from a typewriter," she said slowly, "Definitely.  The material is old.  Really old.  Really, really old.  Rose, I want to doubt this, but I can't."

"I didn't believe it either, when Sarah Jane gave me the watch," Rose admitted, "But it's true, all of it.  And I need to get back to him.  Can you help me?"  She sat down next to Martha on the carpet of their floor. 

Martha ran her hand through her, wincing as it got caught in a snag.  "I don't know, Rose.  If the watch doesn't work, I can't think of anything else that would get you to him.  Time travel hasn't been invented yet, you know that.  Well, not properly at least, seeing as you've done it.  You said before that Sarah Jane never opened the watch?"

"No, she didn't."

"Maybe it just works once.  An escape, and then you're back.  For good."

"What, like a vacation?" Rose knit her brows together, "That doesn't make sense!  Why would it only work once?"

Martha sighed.  "I don't know, Rose, but what other explanation is there?  All the facts are here, that this dress is impossibly old, the the ink is just as old and outdated... You have to be telling the truth.  What I don't understand is why you're killing yourself to get back to a man who told you to leave."

"Because he told me he wanted to marry me," Rose said quietly, wringing her hands.  "He said that he wanted me too much, and that's why I needed to leave. I took it the wrong way, I got offended, and I left, just like that.  I thought I'd be able to get back, but I guess I can't."

Martha shrugged.  "Maybe he'll find a way."

Rose could only nod and hope that she was right.

*******

Jack arrived back at John's at noon, bu the man was still sleeping.  Rather than wake him, Jack decided to go back through John's notes to make sure that everything was in order, as they thought it was.  Everything made sense, even if it took him awhile to be able to make out certain words, but he got it.  They were missing one thing, and Jack quickly went in search of it.  He found the solid crystal in a marked bottle.  It took some sharking to get it out, but when he placed it in the soft wax of the candle, it made perfect sense.  That was the final piece.  

As he waited for John, Jack tried to come up with something to call their machine.  It would have to have a name.  Time, of course, would be the first word.  Perhaps it could be an acronym?  He wrote down many different names on a slip of parchment until he reached the right one.  He put a question mark next to it, just in case it was wrong.

_TARDIS-TIme and Relative Dimension In Space?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Martha's testing is accurate at all, but it seemed cool and it's fiction :)


	10. Chapter 10

When it became an half hour after John was supposed to meet Jack in the basement, he wandered down the stairs and Jack waited at the desk where Rose had taken her dictations before John had been an idiot and sent her away.  He was dressed in what Jack knew to be his finest clothing, subconsciously, or perhaps consciously, preparing to see her again.  Breeches and a white shirt, over it a brown waistcoat with an odd swirly scarf tied into the shirt, where it was then tucked into a vest.  Jack felt a fondness for his friend as he realized how far gone he was for this woman.  She was his night and day.  He only hoped that she would be able to know so.

"Ready?" Jack asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't know if I will ever be ready," he said softly, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the machine. "But I need to see her again.  I think I need _her_."

"She's brought you back to life," Jack agreed, a dreadfully happy smile crossing over his face.  "Ever since your parents died, John, you've been putting on a mask of yourself.  She brings it out in a way that is not forced."

John's lips lifted in a soft smile as he met Jack's eyes.  His look turned worried and he wrung his hands.  "I do not deserve her."

Jack rolled his eyes at John's inferiority complex.  He was a good man, he should _know_ that.  "You deserve what she is willing to give.  She is willing to give you herself, which is the greatest gift a woman can give."

"She said she doesn't share," John murmured in recollection.

"Then go, retrieve her."  Jack knew that John had no intention of sharing either, and therefore the two of them would make a beautiful match.  They would be a beautiful match regardless.  Whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, they were meant for each other, built to be together.  

John had planned this perfectly.  His body chemistry would react with the materials placed in and around the wardrobe.  All he had to do was think of a time and he would arrive there.  He could only hope that imagining falling at Rose Tyler's feet as a supplicant would perhaps bring him right where he needed to be.  He clenched his fists at his sides.  "What if I cannot return?" He asked, his voice wavering.

"Then you will stay with her forever, which is what you want anyway," Jack said softly, coaxingly.  

John set his jaw and prepared himself.  He had to go to her, to be with her, even if he could not return.  He drummed his fingers on his leg and finally took a step towards the machine.  If this didn't work, he and Jack would have to start all their hard work over again, and that wasn't something that John was really prepared to do.  He was obsessed with seeing her, but the work to get to her made him terribly anxious.  He looked back at Jack, who was grinning like a loon. 

_Rose Tyler, she is young, Rose Tyler, bring me to the moment she left me, the moment, the exact moment she left me, take me to her._

He stepped into the machine. 

*********

Rose had finally gotten to sleep after a long night of poring over things with Martha. They discovered that without the watch it was nearly impossible to get to him.  She'd cried a bit more and crawled into bed, incredibly relieved that she didn't have class the next day.  She curled up into a ball in bed and shut her swollen eyes, which took her to sleep.  

Martha felt so incredibly sorry for her friend.  After all her tests, she couldn't find Rose's story to be incorrect.  She'd certainly gone to the 1860s, though the science of how was a complete mystery to Martha.  And the way she spoke of this man... Martha didn't know of any man like that, so she couldn't have made him up.  He was too precious to her, and she understood that.  

When Martha woke up, Rose was still sleeping in a sad little ball.  She sighed and kept the curtains closed as she got ready for her class and left, locking the door behind her.  She didn't trust Rose with the door unlocked, not in her current state, at least.  So she crept out without making a sound, like she was trying not to disturb a hungover friend.  She almost wished that Rose had been hungover, it would've hurt her less in the end.  This was something that Martha, even with her excellent people skills, had no idea what to do.  She just left and hoped Rose's day would be less painful than the day before.  

Rose sat up in bed an hour or so later, squinting into the sparse light that was coming through the room.  She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, but she couldn't bear to be awake.  She'd never been so upset about a man before, but she knew she was mourning for more than just him.  She was mourning for a life that was lost to her, a life she wanted but now could never have.  If only she hadn't been so rash and had stayed with him even though he hadn't wanted her there.  She hadn't, though, she'd run, crying, hadn't even tried to fight as hard as she could've.  Wasn't love something to fight for?  She was an idiot not to do so.

Though she loved her comfortable bed, covered in blankets and warmth, she missed the mattress she'd sunk into at John's, every night wishing that he had been there, behind her or beside her, cuddling her, holding her close.  Every time she thought about it she felt more stupid, so she buried herself in the covers.  It wasn't worth escaping, not in the slightest.  She had no where to go, after all, so what difference would it make, where she was?  Huffing to herself, she sat up again and took one of the sleeping pills that was next to her bed.  If she couldn't bear to be awake, she might as well knock herself out.  She had a feeling that after a few days and plenty of rest that she'd be able to move on.  At least she'd been making it to her classes.  That was a special feat all in an of itself.  

Covered in plenty of covers, the heat encasing her all the way up to her neck, she drifted off, induced sleep by the drug she'd taken.  To her extensive bliss and relief, no dreams plagued her, even if she was thinking of John as she had fallen into unconsciousness.

*********

John decided that if this was time travel, he didn't like it very much.  Not at first, anyway.

The second he'd stepped into the wardrobe, rickety or not, it had made an odd groaning sound.  Startled, John had stumbled forwards into the wardrobe until he hit the back end of it.  He brought his hands to his nose as the wardrobe doors slammed shut behind him.  He turned around in the darkness and furrowed his brows.  Of course, he hadn't shut them, so who had.  He stepped forward and pushed open the door slowly.  He gasped at what he saw.  Outside was a swirling vortex of color.  Blues and reds and yellows spread and twisted together, creating what looked to be a more beautiful version of a black hole. 

John let out a shriek of surprise and pulled himself back into the wardrobe, slamming the doors behind him.  "Rose Tyler," he whispered, "Bring me to Rose Tyler, please.  Just after I left her, as close to that as you can."  He blinked back tears, scolding himself for getting emotional.  "I need her," he whispered, closing his eyes and willing with every fiber of his being to reach her.  Her name ran through his head on an endless loop, along with memories of her laugh, voice, and kiss.  Her  _kiss._ He only hoped that she still wanted him after what he'd done to her.  

The vortex outside him seemed to be encouraging him, tumbling over itself and making noise, but it was gentle, soothing white noise.  He sat down on the floor of the wardrobe.  He focused his thoughts in even closer and thought of what Rose had called her 'pajamas', what she'd arrived in.  It made him blush, a little, to make him think of that ensemble, her creamy legs endless under the shortest trousers he'd ever seen.  Even undergarments weren't that short, he knew that much.  He'd learned that packing up his mother's things after she died.  

Daring himself, John opened the door again, peeking out into the tumbling vortex.  "Rose Tyler!" He shouted into the void, hoping that his focus was good enough, that he could get to her based on his own love and affections for her, and  _yes,_ he realized it then, he loved her.  It hadn't mattered that he'd only known her for a short time, he loved her.  She had become so important to him in such a small window, making her the most important woman in his life.  Hopefully the only important woman in his life, forever.  It was fast, he knew that, but he loved her, and he wanted to marry her so badly.  He wanted to hold her close for the rest of his life, no matter where they lived it. 

So he closed his eyes and repeated his mantra, shutting the doors again.  He mouthed her name, he mouthed his love to her, he called out to her from where he was.  He'd fallen so far from grace, and Rose was just the woman to pick him back up.  Oh, but she was perfect. 

The wardrobe landed so hard that it rendered him unconscious, sprawled out in a heap on the floor of it. 

*********

Rose was so out that she only woke up eight hours later.  She woke up to the sound of a heavy  _thunk_ resounding through the whole dorm room.  She was completely awake, unable to fall back asleep even if she wanted to, but she couldn't bring herself to get up either.  Without looking over her shoulder to face the rest of her room and not the wall, she grappled around until she'd picked up  _Great Expectations._ She had gotten it from the library the day after she'd returned but she hadn't been able to bring herself to read it.  Now, with nothing else to her, she found herself able to.  Bracing herself up on one elbow, she opened the curtains of the window right next to her bed, she flipped open to the first page.  This would be good, it had to be good, she loved Dickens.

She was finally able to get John out of her mind, even for a few moments, as she lost herself in a world so old she was able to remember it.  Instead of thinking of how much she missed the old time, she reminisced, peacefully, able to read with a soft smile on her face, recognizing the speech of the time and reveling in it.  She wasn't anywhere near falling asleep and wasn't even sure she wanted to at this point.  She just knew that it was beautiful to be awake now, to be lifted up by these times.  It was a wonderful time period, a brilliant one, really.  

It jolted her halfway through the sixteenth page of the novel.  She loved John.  Really, properly loved him.  She had thought it was too fast, that she couldn't, but with no screen to distract her, with him the only thing to entertain her, she found it was rather easy to fall in love quicker.  They lived together, were forced to be together, and they were drawn like magnets to each other.  She dared to hope, perhaps to know that he felt the same way.  He said that he'd wanted to marry her, to make her his own.  She colored deeply at the thought that he'd said he'd wanted her in his bed.  That had to have been the most raunchy thing he'd ever said to a woman.  At least, she hoped so.  She'd been his first kiss after all, there was no reason she couldn't be his first everything else. Her flush deepened as she remembered that he'd be her first in a lot of things as well.

She shook herself and went back to her book.  It wouldn't do to obsess over him, over the place she could never return to.  After several pages, it became apparent that her fixation was not going away anytime soon, and she sighed heavily before she rolled over in the bed.  What she saw there shocked her.  There, in the middle of the room, was the wardrobe she'd used at John's, with several modifications.  There were things all over it, a candle with a weird crystal being the most prominent.  Furrowing her brows, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, cocking her head and staring at it.  She stood up, getting ready to go up to it, when she was stopped with a groan of pain coming from inside.

She would know that beautiful voice anywhere, in pain or not.

_John._


	11. Chapter 11

Rose stumbled out of her bed, book and sheets forgotten behind her.  She ran up to the wardrobe and hesitated.  What was she to do?  Knock?  This strange wardrobe, very Narnia in it all.  She grinned madly as she looked at it, with little knacks sticking out of it and the candle with the crystal.  He was a  _madman,_ a proper crazy person, and his brilliant inventor's mind had invented a time machine.  

She raised her hands to open it, to throw the doors open and to let him back into her life where he belonged.  She looked down at her pajamas and laughed.  They'd be a bit much for him as usual, but she found herself unconcerned with putting on the whole ensemble that rested dormant in her closet.  She opened the doors slowly, revealing the inside of the dark wardrobe.  It appeared as though he'd been knocked out through his travels and was curled up on the bottom, wearing what was clearly his best clothing.  He looked beautiful and haggard.  

Dropping to her knees in front of him, bringing him to chest level, she bent over and shook his shoulder.  "John?" She called out to him, trying to wake him.  "John, wake up!  You brilliant man, wake up!" 

John started and woke up suddenly, bracing himself up on one elbow.  "You..." he reached out to cup her cheek with his top hand.  "It worked!" 

He scrambled out of the box and pulled her to her feet.  "Rose!"  He laughed, his voice full of joy as he pulled her into a crushing hug, unfit to his time period but perfectly perfect to her.  She locked her arms behind his neck, the fingers of one hand locked firmly in her hair.  She buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent that reminded her very much of the basement, and now, vaguely of time.  She was unwilling to let him go, and he seemed to be very much in the same boat, breathing heavily into her hair.  He murmured something to her, very quietly, than louder, "You beautiful, precious creature."

The words, so filled with awe and love, made her close her eyes tight and burrow closer to him.  She wanted to be close, of course she did, she always wanted to be close to him, and oh, she had missed him so.  She pulled back to look him in the face.  Cupping his cheeks, she grinned wildly at him.  "You invented a time machine!" 

"I did!" He sounded just as excited as she did, and his gaze flicked down to her lips before looking back up to her eyes.  Sensing she was going to make the first move, she lunged forwards and kissed him, hard, one hand snaking up into his hair again.  He clenched his hands into her vest top and reciprocated the kiss effortlessly, pouring all his love into her. 

She pulled back, gasping.  "You're good at that," she said, ruffling his hair, "Did you practice on someone else?" 

"No," he pulled her in close again, "I just... I was waiting for you."

"I tried to open the watch," she blurted out.  He furrowed his brows. 

"How long has it been for you?'

Rose shook her head, "Not even a month, I just couldn't stay away from you.  I needed to be with you, that's what I learned, that's what I want.  No matter where that happens to be, no matter  _when_ it happens to be.  But it didn't work, and I could only hope that you'd find a way because I didn't know what to do."

He grinned at her.  "I found a way," he whispered.  

"How long?" She asked, "You look exhausted."

"Too long," He replied. "Jack and I were up all night trying to figure out what to do.  We started going through all my books, and taking notes, and we found... Well, it was a long shot, by far, but it worked, and I needed to get to you."

She looked back at the wardrobe.  "Can you get back?" 

John's smile faded.  "Do you want me to leave?"

Rose moved her hands to cup his cheeks again, shaking her head violently.  "No, I don't want you to leave, but... I mean, I can't expect you to stay here in the twenty first century.  That would be... Foolish."

He stared at her, as though he himself wasn't sure what he wanted to do.  "I want you to be happy.  I want us to be happy.  I have nothing left there.  There is plenty for me to do here, I could teach them a thing or two."

"What about Donna, and Jack?"

"Donna has her husband," John said, "Jack has... Well, Jack has everyone else," he smiled at her, sharing the little joke with her.  "I don't have anything... Anyone.  We could keep the house in my time... Is it still there?  Here?"

Rose lifted a shoulder.  "We could look.  I don't know."

As she was speaking, his eyes had drifted, and he looked straight up at the ceiling, stepping back from her.  "Yes, well, you're quite naked again."

Rose grabbed his hands and put them on her hips again.  "Quite naked," she laughed.  She ran her hands through his hair.  "You brilliant man.  You found me."

"I'm sorry I sent you away," his hands twitched against her waist and then finally settled on clutching her.  "I could barely live with myself after you'd left... I felt sick, and I should've stayed with you, or let you stay with me.  But it doesn't even matter, what I thought, I should've listened to what you wanted, and I didn't do that."

Rose smiled softly at him.  "I'm going to get changed.  Wait outside the door, we can go down and see if your house is still there.  I hope it is."

John blushed, probably at the thought of Rose Tyler changing, and scurried out the door, shutting it behind him.  His back against the door, he guarded it vigilantly as a dark-skinned girl approached him. 

"Hi there," She said, a little suspiciously, as she shifted her denim newsboy bag on her shoulder.  "Are you looking for someone?"

"I am waiting for Rose," he replied, his hands clasped together in front of him.

"She gets over things quick," murmured the girl. "I've gotta tell you, brother, she's got it bad for some guy in the past, so I don't know exactly what your chances are.  I'm Martha Jones, by the way."  She pushed her hand out towards him.  

He took her hand and kissed it, dropping it back to her side. "John Smith, it is a pleasure to meet a friend of Rose's."

Martha's mouth hung over.  "Wait!  Wait, wait, you're him!  You're that guy she's so hot for, from the 1860s!  How did you do that?"  She jumped up and down excitedly.  

John was a little out of his comfort zone, with a woman who was uncomfortably ecstatic.  He nodded slowly.  "I'm not sure what 'hot for' means, because I don't think Rose has a fever," he cast a worried glance at the door, "But to answer your question, I invented a machine to bring me to her."

"That is beyond romantic," Martha beamed. "Well, then, I'll just duck right out of here again if you want the room to yourselves," she winked at him and skipped away from him, leaving him very confused indeed.  He knocked on the door once and called in, "Your friend Martha says we have the room to ourselves if we wanted, but I don't see why-"

Her loud laugh cut him off.  She opened the door, dressed in a hoodie and jeans.  "She meant... Oh, never mind, you wouldn't.... Approve."  She stepped forward and shut and locked her door, her keys in hand.

"You're naked again," he said quietly, as though she wouldn't be aware of such a thing.  She couldn't help but notice however, that his hand was on the small of her back as he said so. 

Her lips twitched up in a smile and she turned to him.  "It's just clothes," she said, "It's what we wear.  Come on now, let's go to your house."

John's reaction upon seeing the world around him was incredible. His jaw dropped, and he looked confused and in awe.  "Rose, this is... This is like nothing I ever imagined.  I feel a bit out of place, I must admit."  

Rose offered him a smile. "With the right clothes, you'd fit right in, I promise."

"This is the carriage you drive in?" he asked, furrowing his brows as they approached her little silver car.  She nodded.  

"It's called an automobile, or a car.  Here, you get in this side," she gestured for him to get into the passenger seat.  He did, unsure of himself, and she resisted the urge to giggle, darting around to the driver's side and sliding in.  She reached over to his seatbelt and buckled it for him, staring at him.  "Hey, I promise it'll be alright," she cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her.  "We don't have to stay here, if you don't want to stay here.  We can go back to your time, your home.  As long as I'm with you, John,I really don't care."

His eyes bore into hers.  "I want you to be able to be with your mother, Rose.  And I will not take you from her.  We can visit where I am from whenever we so desire, but I want to stay here, with you."

She smiled widely at him.  "You'll learn," she promised him.

She buckled her own seatbelt and was able to navigate herself to where John's home was.  It took a bit, since the roads were different, and it was about an hour and a half drive, but it made her feel as though she was coming home more than anything.  The little house was now in the middle of a neighborhood, with a sign in the front lawn.  

"That might be a for sale sign," Rose murmured, almost to herself, as she pulled into the new driveway.  

The siding had been redone time and time again, but the same plants grew in the garden, and it was all close to how she remembered it.  She got out of the car and John followed her lead, getting out on his side and shutting her door.  Rose walked around the car to take his hand and walked towards the sign with him in tow. 

The sign was not a for sale sign as she thought it would be.  It was similar, but what was on it made Rose laugh.

_Protected by the Harkness family for John Smith and Rose Tyler. (Don't worry, you visit)_

_If you are John Smith and Rose Tyler, call this number:_

Below it was a phone number that Rose saw and scrambled to pull out her mobile, ignoring John's surprised look at the device as she dialed in the number and pressed the mobile to her ear.  She kissed his cheek when she saw his confusion.  "I promise, I'll teach you everything," she vowed, stroking her thumb over his.  He smiled at her, the brightness of it seeming to light up the yard. 

The woman on the other end was a very confused realitor who thought the Harkness' were simply a mad family who didn't know what they were talking about.  Her intrigue brought her right over to the house to give them the ownership papers that had been paid for in the Harkness name and a tour of the place. 

It was all very familiar, similar, but not the same, furniture, and she felt her heart pull with it all.  She split off from the group to go upstairs and saw that John's mother's clothes were in the guest room of the house.  Eventually, after the poor woman who was confused by John's dress and the situation in general, had left, John found Rose up in the guest room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the dress she'd first worn in 1865 in her hand.  She smiled up at him.  "I'm sure your mother was a wonderful woman," she whispered.

"They were in a crash," he whispered, crouching down beside her.  "Traveling by train, it... It is not sure fire, of course, but we didn't expect the train to explode, even if it did crash."  He blinked back tears, looking at the old dress.  "It looks so old."

She reached up to cup his cheek.  "Let's go fetch her things from the past, when we go back," she said, "The Harkness family says we visit, after all."  She leaned forwards and kissed him.  He gathered her to her feet, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her clothes.  She poured all the love for him she felt into the kiss, holding him tenderly and giving him everything she had. 

"I love you," he whispered as his mouth moved from hers down the column of her neck. "I love you, I  _love_ you."

"I love you too," she replied in the same tone, not wanting to break the moment.  She let him continue his unhurried exploration, his fingers grappling for the zipper of her hoodie.  She leaned forwards and pushed the door shut.  He looked at her in surprise and she just kissed him again.  

They backed up slowly, Rose losing her hoodie and John losing his tie along the way.  He hovered over her once they got to the surprisingly dustless bed, and he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear.  "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, the most magnificent creature."

Rose felt herself tear up at words like that, words that had never been given to her.  He promised her the world that afternoon, holding her close, worshiping her in a way that was tender and brought tears to her eyes more than once.  They found their way under the covers, her arms wrapped around his waist and her had on his chest.  His arm lay around her shoulders, his hand in her hair. 

"We will go back," he said softly, "Just not right now."

"No," she agreed, rubbing her cheek against his bare chest, "Not right now."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last OFFICIAL chapter, but there will be an epilogue! Thank you for loving on this so much! I hope to do another AU soon.

They did go back to the past eventually, in the wardrobe.  Rose wanted to stick her head out which made John very nervous indeed but he agreed that they could watch the swirling vortex that lay beyond the doors for a few moments at least. They did just that, staring into the abyss together.  Her hand found its way into his and she looked at him, the blue and red and purple flicking across his face and in his eyes. "I love you," she told him. 

He smiled at her, a thousand watt smile that did horrible things to her.  "I love you too."

They shut the door and finally landed so hard that the both of them tumbled out of the wardrobe, John on top of Rose.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared up at him.  "Hello," she grinned at him. 

"Hello," he replied tenderly, ducking down to kiss her, one of his hands coming to stroke her waist.  They carried on like that for a moment until they heard footsteps from above them.  

"You've returned!" Jack crooned.  John rolled off of Rose and got to his feet, helping Rose up.  Jack's eyes skimmed over Rose slowly, though not in a perverted way. "So what's this, then?" He asked, arching a coy brow at her. 

"This is what they wear in the twenty first century, Jack," John told him. 

Jack hummed and rocked back on his heels. "I must travel.... John, I feel the urge."

"I'm sure you do," John shot back.  Then he walked over to his friend and embraced him.  "Thank you."

Jack thumped John's back heartily before they separated and John returned to Rose's side.  Jack furrowed his brows at them.  "Whatever for?"

"It seems as though the Harkness family takes care of this house until Rose and I can inhabit it, later on."

Jack's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and a huge smile lit his face. "Is that so?  Am I the cause of my favorite pair?"

Rose grinned at him. "Well, I don't know if I'd say you're the cause, but... Thank you.  In advance of course."

"Of course," Jack replied, nodding.  He pursed his lips together.  "You aren't staying."

Rose shook her head.  "We'll be going back to my time," she said softly.  "But with the machine, we can visit now.  It won't be dodgy like it was with the watch, we have the wardrobe now."

"Right," John agreed.  "Of course, I'll want to visit probably more often than Rose will."

"How do you know you'll land in the right time?" Jack asked, a little skeptical.

John inhaled deeply, preparing himself for a speech.  "It would appear that the system of thinking of what you wish to see is very accurate.  And I don't know if we plan on going anywhere else."

"I want to see Ancient Egypt," Rose piped up, grinning. "I think trips would be manageable."

Jack's smile was firmly plastered back on his face as he regarded his friends. "Well, I hope you do know I expect to find myself on one of those trips."

"Absolutely!" Rose beamed. 

"Three people in that tiny box," John mused, scratching the back of his neck. 

Jack waggled his eyebrows. 

John gazed upwards towards the ceiling. "We have some things to fetch, I believe, Jack.  If you'll excuse us."

"Of course," Jack said, "I must be going anyway.   But, do return."

"Wait!" John suddenly said.  "If... If you are to tend to the house anyway, Jack, I want you to have it."

Jack's mouth hung open at the very suggestion.  "John, you know I have never had a home quite like this.  I usually stay-"

John held a hand up.  "I know where you usually stay.  This would be a place to call yours, just..." he wrinkled his nose, "Keep the nightly visits at a minimum, if at all possible."

His friend grinned broadly.  "Who knows, John, I might even be courting soon."

"You will not."

Unable to contain herself, Rose threw herself at Jack in a crushing hug.  Unsure of what to do, Jack let his hands flutter helplessly for a moment before settling them in the safe territory of her upper back.  "Brilliant Rosie," he said cheerfully.  "The two of you will be the most amazing pair there ever was."

Rose pulled back and smiled widely at him.  "And you and... Whoever you happen to be with," she replied, a teasing note to her voice. 

Jack let out a bellowing laugh, a twinkle in his eye.  "But of course!"  He sobered, regarding them both with a love that could only be that of a brother's.  "I cherish you both and thank you for this amazing gift.  Perhaps I will take over your dictations?" 

"Yes, if you'd like."

"Where will I say that you have gone?" Jack furrowed his brows. 

John lifted a shoulder and looked to Rose for help. 

She smiled and looked at John.  "We'll be visiting after all.  Tell them we've gone traveling."

The two bid goodbye to Jack and went upstairs to gather up John's mother's things, in much better condition now than they were in the twenty first century, of course.  Rose's things were left in the room, for when they would visit, and John brough this things into the room with hers, so that Jack would have his old room.  He explained to Rose that he wouldn't be needing those things anymore, that being with her would be just enough, and he'd require new clothes anyway.  

Perched on top of the trunk, John and Rose shut the doors of the wardrobe.

"I hope this bloody thing holds up," Rose murmured, and John chastised her for her language before thinking the word  _home._

And they were there, in his home, in the twenty first century.  It was incredible, to him.  They moved the trunk upstairs to its rightful place.  Rose put her hands on her hips and looked at it, a proud look on his face.  Unable to help himself anymore, he flung his waistcoat off and pulled her to him, his hands on her hips.  He pulled her ever closer and kissed her softly, pouring every emotion he felt into her, willing her to understand what, exactly, she meant to him. 

She seemed to gather it, her hands slowly rising to cup his face as they kissed leisurely, having learned their way around each other's mouths.  He pulled away slowly, both of them panting for breath, and pressed his forehead to hers.  "You, Rose Tyler, are my world."

She ran her hands through his hair before pulling away to pull her hoodie off.  "Stay with me?"

He pulled off his tie and stepped closer to her, his hands sliding up under her t-shirt.  He could get used to her wearing all these new found ideals when it came to clothing.  It made her much accessible... But only to him, of course.

Needless to stay, the two of them stayed in for the rest of the day. 

The next morning, she insisted that they go out to get him clothes.  Unsurprisingly, he gravitated towards more classy clothing, suits, she was slightly happy to see.  He looked beautiful in the grey one he picked out, a blue one with red stripes of her choosing, and finally, a brown one with blue pinstripes.  He turned to her, an expectant look on his face.

"You are the most handsome man God put on this Earth," she told him, and grinned when he preened a little at the compliment.  

She was more surprised when, after she forced him into jeans and some t-shirts, just so he would have something casual to wear, he wanted to pick out the oddest shoes she could think of to go with suits.  He squatted down, in his new brown suit, looking at some of the options presented to him, and pulled out a pair of white converse.  

"That's... That's..."  She smiled.  It fit him, somehow.  "Okay."

They decided to build his wardrobe slowly, and just as slowly, he learned to use the modern conveniences available to him.  The microwave was a personal favorite of John's.  He was quite a fan of cooking noodles in her dorm.  

Figuring out where to live posed a problem, but as summer was so close, she decided to do the rest of her schooling online. After all, they were now in a neighborhood, and closer to her mum, and of course, he had to meet her, though explaining where he'd come from hadn't been easy.  Jackie Tyler didn't believe a word of it until they took her to visit Jack.  Then it became very easy indeed to believe.

One night, she found him sitting in front of her laptop at the desk they'd put in the lounge.  She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed her way up his neck until she reached just under the stem of his glasses.  "What are you doing up?" She whispered.  

He turned and offered her a kiss before looking back at the computer.  "I'm just looking."

She propped her chin on his shoulder and looked at the screen.  He was googling himself.  She smiled, knowing that she knew, somewhere, that this would happen.  "What did you find?" She asked him. 

"Everything says I was on my way to success, when I traveled off with a woman and only returned once in awhile.  Some speculate that I was brainwashed, or tricked, or seduced."

Unable to resist, she leaned up to bite his earlobe gently, "And which is it?"

He looked over his shoulder at her, the angle awkward.  "I fell in love," he whispered.  She smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek.  "Come to bed, yeah?  This will all be here in the morning, I promise."

"Yeah."  He shut up her laptop with only one helpful tip from Rose.  He stood up and pushed his chair in, his gaze raking over Rose in the moonlight.  "Ah.  The nightshirt."

"Your shirt," she reminded him.

He grinned wolfishly at her.  "My shirt."  He kissed her again and took her by the hand, leading her back upstairs. 

******

The night he did it, he was in the brown suit that she loved so much.  He looked at the tie selection he had over and over.  he was getting ready at his teaching facility, now that he was properly teaching, to keep her from seeing him.  He'd started styling his hair, spiking it up.  He'd sent a car to fetch Rose to meet him at the restaurant which he was told was the best in the city.  Jackie had reassured him that it was.  He'd had quite a bit of trouble using the phone to call in for the reservation, because he'd never really had to use it without Rose before, but once he'd stumbled through the setting of the reservations, he'd breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

He arrived a few minutes before her with a bouquet of roses, a bit on the nose, maybe, but she would appreciate the gesture, he knew.  When she entered in the dress he'd bought for her, a long, green dress, plain and full in the skirt, he smiled brightly and got to his feet, roses in hand. 

She was beaming as she approached him, taking the flowers and throwing her arms around his neck.  "Thank you for the dress," she whispered.

He kissed her on the cheek.  "You're welcome," he said, grinning at her.  He waited until she was seated before he sat down across from her.  He reached across the table and took her hand, stroking his thumb over her hand.  "I hope you like the flowers," he said sheepishly. 

She squeezed his hand. "I love them," she said enthusiastically.

John was fidgety through dinner, and though Rose wondered why, she didn't say anything.  She kept her hand in his until dinner was over and he insisted he had somewhere to show her.  They left the restaurant and Rose found herself smelling the flowers a little too much as he pulled her towards the park.  She was confused to say the least but let him drag her along until they reached a bench.  He gestured for her to sit down, but he did not.  She furrowed her brows at him but he held up a hand.

"I love you," he said softly, "And I never thought it was possible to love one someone this much.  But I'd go to the ends of the Earth for you, Rose, and I suppose I sort of did.  I want to stay with you forever."  He got down on one knee and presented the most old fashioned but beautiful ring she'd ever seen.  

"Oh, John," she whispered.

"It was my mother's," he told her, "It was with her things, I was afraid you would see it, but she never did.  I know that we have sort of been courting for all this time, and I want... Will you marry me?" He didn't rush it out, but she could tell he wanted to. 

"I love you," She said enthusiastically,  "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you, yes."

"Yeah?"

She giggled at the little joke and nodded furiously.  He slipped the ring onto her finger and she pulled him in to kiss him deeply.  She pulled away and tipped her forehead against his.  "I love you."

"I love you."

"Let's go home," Rose suggested, and they looked at each other, grinning madly, before standing up and taking off into the night.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love on this story! I hope to do a new AU soon!

Their wedding was an odd affair, because Donna and her husband and Jack were all brought in the wardrobe to Rose's time.  Donna was happy to be one of Rose's bridesmaids, though Rose had to explain to her in private what a cell phone was and the like.  

Jack was John's best man, of course, more eager to fall into the routine of a twenty first century man, though it wasn't really hard for him.  He was a modern man by any standards, John had to admit, and was flirting with Rose's friends, Shareen and Martha, the whole time he saw them. 

The wedding was the most beautiful affair Jackie Tyler had ever seen, and though it wasn't a conventional marriage by any standard, she had to admit that John was a perfect gentleman and was ideal for her daughter.  As she walked up the aisle, alone, with no father to guide her, John looked at her with the expression of a man who wanted to do nothing but love the woman before him for the rest of his life.  He held his hand out for her before she got to him and she giggled, releasing her bouquet with one hand to slide it into his.  He brought her knuckles to his mouth to press a gentle kiss to her hand, making eye contact with her the whole time and making the entire congregation in the church sigh at the romanticism of it all.  

At the reception, John was still confused by the music, but Rose knew the words and that was enough for him.  She had pulled some strings to have orchestra pieces from his time played.  Their first dance was one of them, and he gave her a surprised but joyful look, making her laugh with how silly he looked.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.  "You wonderful man, I love you," she whispered.  

"I love you too," he said with conviction, reveling in the fact that even though they'd belonged to each other before, it was official now.  They were each other's, a simple fact.  She would always be by his side.  

Sarah Jane was at the wedding of course, beaming from ear to ear at her young friend.  A short while ago Rose had been miserable, not knowing where she was going or what she was doing.  Based on the stories, John had been exactly the same way.  He lit up when he looked at Rose, Sarah Jane could see it.  They belonged together, even if they had been born in different centuries.

Two years later, John found Rose sitting on their bathroom floor, a look of shock on her face.  

"Rose?" He said anxioulsy, getting to his knees next to her and resting his hands on her shoulders.  She looked over at him and grinned slowly.  'I have some news."

"What?"

She handed him the little stick, and he squinted at the thing, confused. "I don't understand, Rose. What is this?"

She bounced a little bit and pointed wildly at it.  "This is a test to see about something going on in my body."

His gaze snapped up to her face, anxiety written all over his face.  "Are you ill, Rose?  Are you-"

"I'm pregnant!" She shouted. 

Unable to contain his obvious excitement, the Doctor let out a yell and pulled Rose into a crushing hug.  She giggled and squeezed him back, obsessed with the thrumming of his heart beneath her chest.  He was murmuring her name into her neck, when he suddenly pulled back, his mouth wide open.  "We have so much to do," he said, standing and pulling her to her feet.  "We have things to make, to get, to-"

"We can set up a nursery in the guest room and buy the things we need a couple months before the baby is born, John, there's no need to rush."

He looked at her thoughtfully and reached up to cup her face.  "I want to make the crib.  Is that okay?"

She grinned at him.  "You can make a crib?"

"I know how," he said, "I could... If you wanted me to."

Her face was full of tenderness and love when she nodded.  "Yes, I want you to."

"Forever?" He said anxiously, even though it wasn't part of the conversation, but she knew what he meant. 

She took his hand in hers and he kissed it.  Smiling, she redirected his palm to press against her abdomen, and he felt his heart leap.

"Forever."


End file.
